Plastic Talks
by Mandelene
Summary: Amelia Jones is perfectly content with being the school's token delinquent until she's sent to the guidance counselor, Mr. Arthur Kirkland. Little talks are more important than they seem, and sometimes, a friendship can be made even under the strangest circumstances.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note** : Hello, everyone! Here's the next lengthy story I plan to work on. Let me know what you think and whether or not you'd like to read more. As always, thanks for the support!

Lastly, a word of warning, Amelia has a bit of a potty-mouth in this one.

* * *

High school is bullshit.

It's the storage facility for pubescent refuse, and that refuse must ferment for four years before it can be dumped back into the streets from whence it came. It doesn't even make a decent fertilizer. It's the mess no one ever seems to want to put up with and for good reason—it's more trouble than it's worth.

At least, that's what Amelia thinks when the principal sends her to one of the several guidance counselors in the building for "further disciplinary action". The deans' office has had enough of her, and they've finally decided to drop her off on someone else's doorstep. She is the refuse. She is the putrid trash that gets shuffled through the system and clogs up the pipes without ever getting filtered out.

She's met many of the guidance counselors before, and they're all the same. They dress themselves in smiles and rosy cheeks and say she can do anything she sets her mind to, but really, she knows she is and always will be nothing more than a degenerate. Knowing this doesn't bother her, it's just part of her everyday reality. It's like understanding that if you were born with brown eyes, they'll never be blue.

"Ah, Ms. Jones, there you are. You're late, and I was beginning to fear you had lost your way."

She's never met this cheeky bastard in particular, and as she walks into the tiny office, she looks him up and down, a little surprised to see that his face isn't beaming with false cheer. Instead, he lifts a brow at her in a mocking way and gestures to the plush armchair in front of his desk.

"Please, have a seat."

There's a fancy-schmancy diploma hanging on the wall behind the counselor's head, and Amelia squints her eyes to read it. Apparently, the man's name is Arthur Kirkland and he's got a master's degree in educational psychology, whatever that means. It sounds uppity and snobbish, and his British accent doesn't help matters.

"Principal Oxenstierna tells me there was an incident involving you and the chemistry lab. Would you care to explain the situation?"

Amelia can't help but smirk as she says, "There's nothing to explain. I mixed up some of the lab instructions and there was a _minor_ explosion."

"And you sustained a burn to the hand?"

"Yeah, but no one else got hurt, so I don't see what the big issue is."

Mr. Fancy-Pants blinks at her like she's got something stuck in her teeth, but doesn't comment on the matter further. He turns to his desktop computer, and after a minute of searching, he pulls up her long record of misdemeanors with a few clicks of his mouse. "I see…"

"Look, I've already got detention for a week, and I apologized, so can I leave? It's my lunch period, and I'm hungry," Amelia reasons, smacking the bubblegum in her mouth. Ivan will be pissed if she's missing for too long. She promised to write his English paper during fifth period.

"Not so fast. You'll sit here until I dismiss you."

"All right, but if you're gonna make me stay, at least keep me until my trig class is over."

The man ignores her, and Amelia resists the urge to huff. Tough crowd. Aren't guidance counselors supposed to be all welcoming and friendly while you spill your emotional baggage in front of them? How did she end up with this stiff, old man?

"Three accounts of vandalism, five written complaints from teachers regarding your behavior, six dress code violations, two prior suspensions… You've been busy," he remarks dryly. When he's read enough, he shifts his gaze back to her and leans back in his swivel chair. "What do you want me to do for you?"

Amelia cocks her head to the side and then sneaks a hand up to scratch her left eye. Her contact lenses are bugging her, and when her fingers manage to rub away the itch, she's sure she's smeared eyeshadow and mascara down the side of her face. "Excuse me?"

"What do you want me to do for you?" he repeats, letting the words sink in. "It's clear you've been in this position before, and I doubt any lecture I give you will be effective. If you wish to talk, or if you'd like my help, then I'd be happy to take the time to—"

"Nah, dude. I don't need anybody's help. I'll make both of our lives easier and get out of your hair."

"Please address me as Mr. Kirkland. It's my job to advise students. Therefore, it's not my intention to simply sweep you under the rug. However, you must understand that I cannot offer you help if you don't want to receive it."

Amelia shrugs her shoulders and picks her backpack off the floor. The cafeteria's got mozzarella sticks today, and she doesn't plan on missing out. "Sorry, but you can't help me anyway. I'm a lost cause. A real fuckin' nut-job."

The man grimaces at her foul language and purses his lips. He looks like he wants to say more, and for a moment, Amelia swears she sees something akin to regret in the man's eyes, but then the moment is over, and they're both apathetic again. "Very well. In that case, you're free to go."

"See ya."

And that's that.

* * *

"What do you want for dinner?"

"Anything works."

"Right, I almost forgot you've got a bottomless stomach."

"Hah."

Her laugh falls flat, but she does a fine job of plastering a warm smile on her face. She knows Matthew is trying to keep things together, and she really is grateful for all he does, even though she's awful at showing it. That said, there's only so much he can do, and he's still very young—too young to take on the role of being a parent. At twenty-two, he juggles work during the day and night-classes in the evening while also playing the role of caretaker, and it's draining.

He has changed because of it. His temper is shorter, he suffers from insomnia, and everything Amelia does seems to grind his gears. He often scolds her and throws empty threats her way—says things like, "Why the hell can't you grow up already? You're sixteen, and you're still a brat!" It's not the Matthew she remembers playing on the stoop with. She remembers the bashful, little Matthew who took her trick-or-treating every year and did her hair each morning before school. He was her wise older brother, and she was his irritating baby sister.

Amelia watches as he prepares some chicken and rice. His shoulders are hunched, and it's clear he's quite fatigued. She wants to tell him to go to bed early tonight, but she knows he's too stressed to sleep easy, and part of it is her fault.

Most of their conversations end up in arguments now, so Amelia has made an effort to stop talking around him in general because the last thing she wants is to add extra worries to her brother's plate. He's the one who keeps things running, and without him, Amelia figures she'd probably be at a shelter or just plain dead because god knows she can't handle responsibilities on her own.

They live in an apartment together, and Matt splits the rent with Gilbert, their roommate. It's small and cramped, but it holds all of their crap and provides them with a bed to sleep in, which is what's most important. Amelia really doesn't have the right to complain, and though she doesn't get along with Gilbert for a multitude of reasons, he has a girlfriend now and stays at her place on most nights, so it's usually quiet.

"How was school?"

"Fine."

"Well, I know that's not true," Matt jokes. There's a stern undertone hidden beneath his strained smile. "I wish you would stay out of trouble."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she averts her gaze and toys with her phone. Ivan texted her over an hour ago, but she's not in the mood to talk with him. She'll deal with his wrath tomorrow.

Matthew doesn't know she has a boyfriend, naturally, and she plans to keep it that way.

"You know, Amelia, I just want—" Matt releases a long breath and presses a hand against his temple. "I want to understand, but it's difficult when you won't even look at me. I was in high school not that long ago, and I know it's a confusing time, but—"

She shakes her head at him. She doesn't want this to escalate into another fight. "Give it a break, Matt. Can't we talk about something else?"

But that's the thing, they don't have normal discussions anymore. Matthew always attempts to use dinner as therapy, and Amelia ends up eating in the sanctuary of her room to avoid it.

"Just tell me one thing, okay? Please be honest."

She raises her eyes, and a strand of her blonde hair blocks her vision.

"Was it something I did?"

Her breath catches in her throat and after a painful pause, she says, "No."

It's not a lie. Matthew hasn't done anything. It's not a matter of what he did.

It's a matter of what he didn't do.

* * *

"You'll be at the game on Wednesday, right?"

"Yeah, Ivan."

"You've been disappearing for the past few days. I'm starting to get the impression that you don't love me anymore."

Amelia smirks because she knows it's what Ivan expects her to do, and she presses a kiss against his chin, fooling him with her mindless affection. If there's anything she's good at, it's at mimicking two things—love and joy.

"Good. I need my cheerleader there."

"Ugh, I'm not waving pom-poms in the air for you. I'd rather die."

Ivan grins devilishly and wraps his arms around her waist. " _Da_ , we wouldn't want anyone to think you're a girl."

"Exactly," she agrees, pulling herself out of his grip. "I've got to go."

"So soon?"

"Yeah, I've got this dumb meeting with the guidance counselor again."

Ivan hums and snatches her hand before she can run off. "What did you do?"

"Got caught cheating in trig. The deans think I'm emotionally unstable."

"Well, you are," Ivan teases, but now that he has his explanation, he lets her hand go. "Good luck, then. I'll call you tonight."

"M'kay, bye."

She strides into the miniscule albeit meticulously organized guidance counselor's office for the second time that month, and when she crosses the threshold, stodgy Mr. Kirkland peers at her with a disinterested glance and murmurs, "You're late."

"Yeah, I'm a busy woman."

"Leave the attitude outside, please."

"Comin' from the guy who has a stick up his—"

The man cuts her off with a sharp glare and points to the door. "Get out."

"What?"

"Don't 'what' me. Get out."

She takes a second to be stunned. The biting words hurt for a reason she can't fathom, and she tries to ignore their sting as she makes her retreat. She shouldn't care what this guy says to her. She's been told plenty of awful things before, so why should she let it bother her now? "All right. The quicker I get to go home, the better."

"I didn't dismiss you," the counselor clarifies. "I want you to leave and come back into this room without the lip. I only accept civil company."

That's the game he wants to play, then. With a low growl, Amelia walks out and then walks in again, an obviously forced smile stitched onto her face. "Better?"

"Hardly. Sit down," he instructs, pulling up her file with a scowl. "I'm going to call your parents. I think a nice get-together over some tea and coffee will help us sort out some issues."

Amelia rolls her eyes and snorts. "Oh, you have hell on speed-dial too? I thought I was the only one."

Mr. Kirkland steadies another glare at her, but then he realizes the significance of what Amelia has just said, and it shuts him up for a good minute. He takes a sip from his thermos and clears his throat. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not sure if my dad's in hell yet, but if he's not, he'll join my mom eventually."

"Who is looking after you?"

She doesn't want to tell him, but somehow, she knows the man will get the answer out of her even if she doesn't cooperate. "My older brother."

The man reaches for the stationary phone on his desk and starts dialing.

"I'll give your brother a call then. I assume the number in your school record hasn't changed?"

"Wait!" She flings an arm out in an attempt to stop him. "You can't call him. He's at work. He'll be upset if you bother him."

"Well, you should have considered that before you landed yourself here."

Matthew will be furious, she's sure of it, and her heart sinks a million miles when the counselor presses the phone to his ear. The line rings three times, and then she can hear Matthew's flustered voice through the receiver. She buries her head in her hands and thinks about how she's going to make it up to him. She'll take the zero on her trig test, but why can't they leave it at that? Why get her brother involved?

Mr. Kirkland talks to him for about ten minutes, and every spoken word feels like a nail is being hammered into her chest. She's not a little kid. She doesn't need Mommy and Daddy to come and talk to her teacher. She just wants to be reprimanded and then left to her own devices again.

"Thank you very much... Oh, it's no trouble at all…Yes… All right."

The phone is put down, and Amelia stares at the counselor with a burning hatred. This is her life, and she doesn't need him meddling in her affairs.

"Your brother is on his way."

"You're such an asshole. You don't know me. I don't see what gives you the right to get my family involved in this," Amelia snaps at him, breathing hard.

Mr. Kirkland doesn't look fazed in the least. He takes another swig of his thermos and says, "This is being done for your benefit."

She doesn't know why she's getting worked up over this, but it makes her so uneasy that she stands up on quivering legs. "My benefit? Yeah, all right. That's fuckin' great. Thanks for caring so much. I feel a lot better, really. I'll never cheat on a test again. I've seen the light."

"I thought we established that you would leave the attitude outside. In here, you're not fooling anyone," the man explains, quite calm. "Maybe your crude comments work with your friends, but I'm not your friend. I'm here to help you graduate, that's what I'm being paid to do. The deans' office has asked me to schedule an appointment with your guardian, and I am following their recommendations."

"Why? What do they think that'll fix?"

"They're under the impression that your behavior is being influenced by troubles outside of school."

Amelia scoffs, face flushed with anger. "Yeah, well, be sure to thank them for psychoanalyzing me."

"A talk wouldn't hurt. Now, sit down. I won't keep you long once your brother arrives, and then you can go back to wreaking havoc. I know you can't wait to blow up the chemistry laboratory again."

He says it so mildly that Amelia can't suppress the dark amusement she feels. Her anger simmers, and she plops onto the soft chair once more. She broods for a little bit, but then Mr. Kirkland strikes up another conversation with her, casual and unassuming as he fills out some paperwork that has nothing to do with her. She doesn't talk to adults much, and it makes her feel awkward and self-conscious to even be around him.

"I was always horrible at mathematics," he admits. His swivel chair creaks under his weight as he moves to collect some documents from the printer in the corner. "What was your exam on?"

"Trigonometry."

"Oh, that's a nightmare of a subject."

Amelia makes a sound of agreement. Why is he suddenly treating her with such composure? She's insulted him more than once. By all means, he should be holding a grudge against her. He's supposed to treat her with disgust and disapproval, not respect and professionalism.

They sit in silence for nearly half an hour. Mr. Kirkland types away at his computer and talks with a few administrators over the phone, and Amelia plays a game on her phone. In a way, she finds the silence relieving. When she's at home with Matt, they get stuck in screaming fests, slam doors, and part ways to deal with their misery on their own. School isn't much better in terms of the level of chaos. It's nice to be able to sit in a comfortable quietude for a while.

Then, there's a knock on the door, and Matthew walks in, pale and dressed in the black polo shirt and khakis that he wears for work. He's a barista at a coffee shop not too far from their apartment, and spends his entire shift on his feet, so when Mr. Kirkland invites him to take a seat, he doesn't hesitate to comply.

"Thank you for taking the time to visit."

"Of course. I'm sorry for any trouble Amelia's caused. I-I've tried to explain to her the importance of her education, but I haven't had much success," Matthew mutters, visibly nervous.

"It seems to me that Amelia is a clever girl with a quick-wit."

Amelia gapes at the man. A compliment? Where is this coming from? Just an hour ago, he was complaining about her bad attitude.

"However, she has a tendency to become aggressive when upset, and I think it's part of the reason why she's sitting in my office. It's clear to me that she doesn't do well with authority, and I believe it's something we could work on."

Matthew nods his head and immediately jumps on board. "That'd be great."

Amelia frowns. Just when she thinks she's being excluded from the discussion, Mr. Fancy Pants Kirkland turns to her with his startling green eyes and smiles. It's really strange to see him happy. She has always seen him with a disgruntled look on his face, and that smile suddenly makes him more human. She can't remember the last time an adult smiled at her, excluding Matthew, but even he doesn't do it very often anymore.

"What do you think, Amelia?"

His use of her first name makes her squirm. "W-Whatever."

He shifts his attention to Matthew. "I'd like to meet with her three times a week for counseling."

Amelia chokes on her spit, and Matthew claps a hand against her back to help her recover.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," her brother states with a polite smile of his own as she continues to cough.

She's going to kill him when they get home.

"Excellent. Is fourth period all right for you, Amelia? You're welcome to have your lunch in here during our sessions."

She still hasn't gotten her breathing under control, so Matthew continues speaking for her. "I'm sure that's fine. Isn't it, Amelia? I'm sorry, her asthma must be acting up again."

She doesn't have asthma.

At long last, she steadies herself and decides there's no way she'll go along with this little arrangement. If it had been any other counselor, she might've agreed just to set Matthew's mind at ease, but Arthur Kirkland is insane, and she'll be damned if she has to sacrifice her lunch periods for his griping.

She opens her mouth to make her opinion on the matter crystal clear, but then Matthew gives her a puppy-dog look. He's silently pleading with her, and she can't stand it when he looks so helpless. After all he's done for her, this is how she treats him?

"A-All right," she surrenders, and Matthew gives her a squeeze of approval.

Agreeing and actually following through with the agreement are two completely different things, and Amelia knows she'll never show herself in this office again. Not willingly, anyway. Somehow, Arthur knows this as well.

And that's a problem.

* * *

She doesn't get the appeal of football. It's a sadistic form of entertainment that pits a bunch of buff guys against each other on a large field and makes them pummel each other to the ground in order to score points. Needless to say, she's not a fan of the sport, but she goes to every game anyway because Ivan wants her there, and what else is she going to do during her evenings? Matthew doesn't want her to have an afterschool job when she can't even keep her grades up and that means she'd probably be stuck in the apartment, listening to a drunk Gilbert prattle on about something in the news.

She sits at the top of the bleachers with a box of nachos and closes her eyes, listening to the noise all around her. Sometimes it's fun to hear what people are talking about. She'll focus in on someone in the crowd and wonder what their life is like. If she imagines being in their shoes, she gets to be someone else for a few minutes, and that's always fun—way more fun than looking at teenage boys getting concussions on the field.

Time flies when you're dreaming.

When the game is over, she waits outside of the locker room for Ivan, and he comes out with a bunch of his buddies from the team, sweat drenched and bruised in some spots. It's like they've just walked out of battle, and Amelia kisses Ivan even though his lips taste of salt and blue Gatorade.

"Did you enjoy the game?" he asks.

Amelia twists her lips into a coy grin and lies beautifully. "I think that was your best performance yet."

"You always say that."

"It's true. You keep getting better," Amelia showers him with praises, and Ivan pulls her to his side as though she's a prize he just won at the carnival.

"What are you doing during lunch tomorrow?"

She's supposed to meet with Arthur for their first session, but she's not going. "Nothing. I'm all yours."

"Okay, good. I have a project I need your help on."

"I'm not exactly the best person to ask."

Ivan squeezes her shoulder tightly, and she winces. Sometimes, he doesn't know his own strength. "You're smarter than you give yourself credit for... Hey, didn't I tell you not to wear that anymore?"

She looks down at her torn-up skinny jeans and bites her lip. "I was in a rush getting dressed this morning, and they were the first thing I grabbed. Why don't you want me wearing them again?"

"Other people will stare at you," Ivan warns her before he combs a piece of hair out of her face with the calloused pad of his thumb. "The only attention you should be getting is from me."

"Ah, right… I forgot."

"It's okay. Remember for next time."

"Will do, comrade. I saved you some nachos."

* * *

" _Amelia F. Jones. Please come to the center section of the cafeteria_ ," the intercom drones within the first five minutes of the period, and Amelia pulls the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and does her best to pretend she doesn't exist. She continues her task of drawing the Spanish flag on a piece of poster paper for Ivan's project on Spain's economy with red and yellow markers, and munches on an apple in between mini-breaks.

Ivan lowers his head to meet her gaze and wags his finger at her. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing, I swear. I don't know what they want from me."

The intercom blares again, but this time, the voice talking into it is different. It's unmistakably British, and Amelia groans. She didn't think he would go through the effort of looking for her.

" _Amelia Jones, hiding is futile_ ," he taunts.

She can hear a few students snickering, but she's not going to hand herself in so easily. Maybe he'll get tired of waiting around and will return to his repulsively clean office.

Ivan has almost forgotten the whole ordeal and has started talking about what Vash did the other day in practice when a hand clasps itself onto Amelia's shoulder and startles them both. Amelia doesn't waste any time in shrieking, and she swats the hand away as another arm comes up to pull back the hood she's been cowering underneath.

"Don't do that!" she yells at the man with lemon-colored hair. "You scared me!"

"You wouldn't be scared if you didn't have such a guilty conscience," Mr. Kirkland points out before noticing what Amelia has been busying herself with. "What a nice picture."

"You're crazy!"

"Perhaps, now come along, we have an appointment," he reminds her, pausing for a moment to regard Ivan. "My apologies for whisking your friend away so suddenly."

Ivan grins widely and swallows back a laugh at Amelia's horrified expression. "It's all right. I understand."

And then, Amelia's escorted out of the cafeteria, fuming and ferocious as Mr. Kirkland strolls toward his office as though they're walking through the park.

"Let's have a chat," he suggests when they arrive to their destination, but Amelia refuses to sit down. It must be illegal to hold her here against her will. She should call the police. She should storm out and file a report for kidnapping.

"I-I'm leaving! Why can't you just go away, old man?"

"Please call me Mr. Kirkland or Arthur, whichever is more comfortable for you," he states a bit firmly, and Amelia admits that it scares her somewhat. "You agreed that we would meet for sessions three times a week."

"Yeah, but maybe I changed my mind!"

"Is my company really that horrible?"

"Yes!"

Mr. Kirk—Arthur chuckles at her, and it makes her feel like a little kid who's the brunt of a joke she doesn't quite comprehend. He offers her a piece of hard candy from the bowl on his desk and says, "This isn't a punishment."

"What is it then?"

"A conversation."

Amelia glowers but finally takes a seat. "I'm not good at those."

"Well then, it's a perfect time to practice."

She takes one of the candies and narrows her eyes skeptically. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything you'd like."

"What if I don't want to talk about anything?"

Arthur gives her that surprising smile again, and she glances away from it. "That's all right too. I can give you some paper to write or draw on, or I can lend you a book to read. The session ends at eleven-thirty."

"Okay. Can I have some paper then?"

She draws a woman being carried away by a dozen balloons. Their strings are coiled around her wrists, and below her stands a sea of faceless people. It takes her the entire period to finish, and Arthur doesn't say a word. He sips his tea and reads a newspaper, giving Amelia the silence and privacy she clearly wants.

When the bell rings, she sets down the pencil she's been given and looks up at Arthur with dazed eyes. "D-Do I have to show you?"

"Not unless you want to."

Amelia takes the sketch and stows it in her backpack for safekeeping. "That's it?"

"That's it. I'll see you again tomorrow. Oh, and one more thing…"

"Yeah?"

"I'm quite good at hide-and-seek."

Amelia cracks a smile before she can stop herself.


	2. Chapter 2

" _Older brother, restless soul, lie down._

 _Lie for a while with your ear against the earth._

 _And you'll hear your sister sleep talking_

 _Say, 'Your hair is long, but not long enough to reach home to me,_

 _But your beard someday might be.'"_

-The Middle East, "Blood"

* * *

"Do you see that girl? I heard she went to juvy for beating up another student."

"Beating up a student? That's nothing. She _killed_ her mother. I'm surprised they even let her go to school. She's unstable."

The faint whisperings are always there, and she's well aware of the circulating rumors. People need something to talk about, and she can see why she's a fun subject for discussion and conspiracy theories. She is, after all, a walking freak show even on her better days.

The metaphysical impurities on her skin are like coffee stains that can't be bleached. Others see them, she sees them, and the more she tries to wash them out, the darker they become. It's all written in her eyes—the things she's witnessed—and it's intimidating to most.

Not that it matters. She prides herself in being a supposed teenage serial-killer on the loose. It spices things up a little, and it's great for an occasional laugh.

"She's dating Ivan. Yes, Ivan from the football team. I don't know what he sees in her."

"Remember what happened at that party during sophomore year? Ever since then, she's taken crazy to a whole new level."

"Let's just hope she doesn't hurt anyone else. I'd keep my distance from her if I were you."

"Hey, if Ivan suddenly disappears one day, we'll know what happened."

The route to the guidance counselor's office is becoming too familiar for comfort, and as much as she wants to skip sessions, she also knows that meeting with Arthur on a regular basis is the only way to keep Matthew off of her back. Big bro has been calling the school to check up on her, and she'll do anything to spare herself the embarrassment of having him dote on her. He's not her dad, and though he claims to know what's best for her, he's too inexperienced himself to really know what he's talking about.

If she gives up just an hour of her day for counseling, then maybe he'll stop suffocating her.

Arthur is talking to another student when she arrives, and it must be serious, because the door to his office is shut. She peeks through the glass window to get his attention, and when he notices her presence, he wraps up his conversation and sees the student out.

She's never seen the kid before, but he must be some punk to think he can just take up _her_ scheduled appointment time.

When it's just her and Arthur again, she gives the man a whimsical sneer. "You're cheating on me? I'll have you know it takes a lot of effort to haul my ass over here when I could be enjoying a sloppy joe in the cafeteria, and this is how you treat me?"

Arthur rolls his eyes at her and tries to make himself look as bitter and unhappy as always, but Amelia can see the smidgen of amusement hiding in his features. He flourishes his arm, invites her inside, and says, "I'm terribly sorry about that, but it was urgent."

"I don't know, dude. You're going to have to make it up to me," she replies, throwing a not-so-surreptitious glance at the lemon candies on the desk.

"Help yourself," he sighs, sitting down in his chair with a barely perceptible wince. He massages his knee with one hand and adds, "But don't take the entire bowl. Those come out of my paycheck."

She grabs three, and stows two of them in her pocket for later. "Thanks. So, what do I havta do today?"

"What would you like to do?"

"Can I get some paper again?"

Arthur forages through a drawer and hands her two sheets of copy paper when he finds the stack. There's a curious look in his eyes, and as Amelia starts her sketch, he asks her, "When did you pick up an interest in art?"

She shrugs. "I guess I've been drawing since I could pick up a pencil. I don't do it as much anymore."

"Why not?"

Something in the office gets her to lower her guard. It's like a thick smog washes over her, and as she makes herself comfortable in the gray armchair, she feels like she's having a cup of hot chocolate in a neighbor's living room. Everything is calm and casual. They have all the time in the world to themselves, and she can't stop herself from sharing some thoughts.

"I don't have much to draw with. I used to be really good with pastels and watercolors, but then my elementary school cut art classes because of issues with their budget. I couldn't do it at home either because then my parents would see."

"Why couldn't you let your parents see it?"

"Mom didn't approve because she always said I'd just make a mess."

"What about your father?"

"He'd give me a walloping and tell me to pick up a real hobby."

She snaps her head up and tries to figure out why she said that, and to Arthur of all people. Her shoulders tense, and she puts down her pencil, waiting to see how he will react.

"Well, that's a shame, isn't it?" Arthur murmurs, seemingly indifferent. "You've got raw talent."

Talent? Does he know who he's talking to? She's horrid at everything she does. She is the antonym of talent.

"Uh… Thanks, I guess."

Arthur nods, takes a sip of tea, and stares at her over the rim of the teacup. "If you enjoy something, you should continue doing it. Life is difficult enough as it is, and we shouldn't deny ourselves pleasantries."

Tongue-in-cheek, she retorts, "But what if I really like drinking booze?"

"That's different."

"Yeah, you can't find happiness at the bottom of a beer can, or so I've been told," she smirks, smudging parts of her sketch with an index finger to create shadows.

They don't say much else after that, and Amelia finishes working in silence, sneaking another lemon candy into her pocket whenever the man turns around. Arthur lets her leave a few minutes before the bell rings so she can get to her next class on time, but he shouldn't bother because she's going to spend that extra time loitering in the hallway.

She decides to let him keep the sketch this time, and if he's startled by what she has drawn, he doesn't show it.

It's a pair of eyes staring over the rim of a teacup.

* * *

"Matt? Matt, are you home?"

"He's at the dentist."

She hangs her coat on the rack by the door and groans as Gilbert comes into view. He's the last person she wants to see right now. His arrogance and sass isn't going to do her throbbing headache any good, especially not after a long day of melodrama. "Great, you're here. Did you get in a fight with your girlfriend again?"

His sharp-toothed grin makes her take a step back. "I don't think you have to worry your pretty, little head over that."

She has gotten used to his condescending remarks, and though they aggravate her, they tend to be harmless. She'll lock herself in her room until Matt comes home because he can control him better than she can.

"Have a good day at school?" he asks with a chortle.

"No."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

He makes a low whistle and leans against the doorframe to her bedroom. It bothers her that he can get close to her personal space with such ease. He's only a few feet away from the nature posters on her wall, the teddy-bear she won at the fair when she was seven, and all of the other miniscule knickknacks that she can still call hers. "Wow, I'd rather have a root canal than talk to you. Can't you loosen up a little? This angsty teenage persona of yours is becoming really annoying."

To emphasize his point, he grabs her by the shoulders and gives her a rough shake, "You're a kid. You should be out partying and getting wasted. Get some friends, girlie."

She twists her torso to free herself, but it's no use. Gilbert is taller and at least twice as strong. A gut-wrenching pang of fear overtakes her, and she thrashes helplessly against his taut arms. "As if you would know anything about friends. Let go of me!"

"How does Matthew even put up with you?"

"I'm serious, Gil, let me go!"

"Or else what?"

She pitches an elbow at his face and strikes him in the nose, grazing fragile cartilage. It's not enough to actually injure him, but it smarts for a minute, and Amelia uses the opportunity to slip away. The hairs on the back of her neck are standing on edge, and her heart drums painfully against her ribs until she puts a safe distance between Gilbert and herself.

"Agh!" he moans, covering his face with his hands. His wise-guy façade falters, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he regains the ability to speak. "I was only joking."

"It wasn't funny. Why do you have to be such a dick?"

Gilbert scowls, and it makes his jutting jaw more pronounced. "I put up with a lot of your shit because you're Matt's little sister, but don't think for a second that I'll let you walk all over me. You need to learn some respect, and fast."

"I wouldn't have hit you if you had let go," Amelia hisses through the blood rushing in her ears. Before Gilbert can go on with his poor attempt at a lecture, she makes it into her room and swings the door shut.

And now it's her space again. Hers and hers alone.

* * *

Amelia gets up with the sun. It's the way she functions, much to Matthew's chagrin. Her brother will sleep in until noon if given the opportunity, but Amelia is too restless in both mind and body to be prone for more than seven hours. She's the early bird with a wild and untamed spirit, and though she'll be the last one to get to class, she'll be the first one at school.

The world is different place at the crack of dawn. Pink and gold swatches of light chase off the waning moon, and the stillness is pervasive to the point where the only thing she can hear is the sound of her own breathing—the in and out puffing of her lungs beating against the crisp scent of the outside. And in that moment, luck is on her side because she gets to bear witness to a kind of modest beauty everyone else takes for granted. It feels like she is the privileged one for once. She is privileged enough to see the sky at the peak of its metamorphosis. Everything is beautiful and unfettered when the rest of the city is asleep.

Even her school holds a certain allure when empty. Before seven o'clock, it's just a plain brick building without a purpose. If there were no students left to educate, it would be a useless structure taking up valuable real-estate on the corner.

When its gates open, she heads inside and waits for Ivan by her locker, which is where they'll brief each other on any important events and kiss before going in opposite directions for first period.

And sure enough, a quarter after seven, Ivan makes an appearance, his duffel bag cast across his shoulder for afternoon football practice. He leans down to meet her lips, and she waits for sparks or magic or fairy dust or anything close to desire, but it doesn't come.

She doesn't love him.

She's not even sure she knows what love is.

But when he says, "I love you" with an eager smile and lustful touches, she'll look him dead in the eyes and mouth, "I love you too." Maybe if she says it enough, it'll convince them both. Lying is her specialty.

Ivan brushes a hand over her fringe and asks, "What did you do yesterday?"

"Nothing much. Usual stuff."

"Natalya says you were talking with Kiku at the train station."

"Oh, yeah. We're doing a group project in English, and we were deciding who was going to do what." She explains, grabbing a few books from her locker. "Since when has it been Natalya's job to spy on me?"

Ivan laughs, and she can feel the unsettling rumble in his chest. "Natalya hears and sees everything that goes on around here."

"She doesn't like me."

"That's not true. The only reason she gives you a hard time is because she doesn't want me dating anyone. Don't let it bother you."

Amelia drops her head on his shoulder and whispers, "Easier said than done."

Ivan is safe. He's well over six feet tall and is the probably on his way toward being the greatest quarterback this decrepit school has ever coached. He is security. He is the foreboding Slavic man who stands behind her back and wards off those who lurk around for too long. He keeps every hair on her scalp in place, and it's exactly what she needs, regardless of what she wants.

"Be nice to her. She is my sister, after all."

"I can't be nice, remember? I bite."

"I'll get you a muzzle."

The edge of her practiced smile snaps, but Ivan doesn't notice.

It's all right.

Perhaps you have to hate before you can love.

"The bell is about to ring, kitten. I'll see you at lunch?"

She threads her smile back together until her cheeks hurt. "Yeah, I'm free today."

"Okay, stay out of trouble until then."

He says it as though she is nothing but a naughty child who stole too many cookies from the cookie jar and ended up with a stomach ache. She's the thorn in his side, but Amelia supposes that's what he likes about her. He can be the one in command, and she won't dare to take that power away from him. It's just the way he likes it.

He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and saunters off.

* * *

She sold herself long ago.

Every fiber of virtue and respectability in her body was tossed on the floor the day she first followed a boy home. That's all he was, a boy, and even now, as she lays her head on her pillow at night, she thinks of his hungry eyes—his need to claim something as his own and then exhibit it as evidence for everyone else to see.

And she was just a girl, unaware of ethics and honor and morality. She liked being put on a pedestal. She was being sought after, but only later would she realize the difference between being wanted and being cherished.

"Is everything all right?"

She looks up at Arthur and purses her lips. Is she despicable in his opinion too? When he meets her gaze, does he see the sin and shame she wears?

"You're awfully quiet today."

"I'm fine."

"I'd rather you tell me the blunt and cold truth instead of lying," Arthur drawls. It's been an arduous week for everyone, and with the weekend approaching, motivation is in low supply. "What have you been toiling over?"

Amelia sheds a slanted smile and prepares her counter-attack. It's strange how naturally she is able to initiate banter with the man now. It's only their fifth session, and yet, she feels like she's been visiting this cramped office for years. Not to mention that, most of the time, they don't even speak to each other all that much. Amelia draws her portraits while Arthur runs errands, and somehow, the quiet has taught them more about each other than they could ever have imagined.

It's harder to sit in silence with someone for an hour than it is to hold an hour long conversation, and that's a puzzling discovery for Amelia to come to terms with.

"Why do I always have to be the one to talk? Why don't you tell me what you're thinking about for once?"

Arthur chuckles and folds his hands, thinking long and hard. "I suppose that's fair. Let's see… I've been contemplating how I'm going to outdo my neighbor's Christmas display this year."

"Outdo him?"

"Yes. He likes to make a show of his house during the holidays. He'll spend hours decorating his windows with Christmas lights, and he has a set of dreadfully gaudy nutcrackers on his front lawn that sing at random intervals. This year, I've had quite enough of his grandstanding, so I've assembled a five foot tall glowing snowman next to my driveway. The electricity bill will be the bane of my existence, but at this point, I'm committed. Someone has to teach that git—I mean individual—the concept of modesty."

Amelia stifles her contagious laughter, and it comes out as a reserved giggle instead. "I didn't know you were so competitive. He must really get on your nerves."

"Francis? He's been terrorizing the neighborhood for well over a decade now," Arthur laments, resting his chin in the palm of his hand lazily.

"Maybe he'll move out eventually."

"Yes, and he'll probably be replaced by someone even worse."

She can picture Arthur standing in the middle of the street, shaking a fist at his rival like a madman, and it becomes harder to muffle her laughs. "I guess it keeps things interesting, at least."

"Too interesting, I fear."

And for the first time, Amelia notes the fact that Arthur doesn't have a ring on his finger. "You're not married?"

He seems a little bewildered by the question, but only for a second. "No… I'm not."

"Why?" she asks. It slips out, and Amelia worries that she's prying too much—she's gone too far and now Arthur will see her as just another irritating brat taking up his time.

"I'm a miserable sod," he replies with a cynical smile. "Besides, I wouldn't want to put any poor woman through such agony."

"Aww, Artie. There are plenty of fish in the sea. You've just gotta find the one for you."

He flinches at the nickname, and it's comical how easily he becomes flustered. "I-I can manage my romances just fine."

Amelia snorts and pushes down her swelling grin. "I'll hook you up with someone in the dean's office. I know everyone there pretty well, and there are plenty of potential dates hanging around. All you have to do is use your British accent to charm them, and they'll fall right into your arms."

The vein in Arthur's temple bulges, and Amelia is now laughing so hard she can barely breathe. It's gloriously entertaining to see such a self-important man fall victim to teasing.

"I'd hardly consider this an appropriate topic of discussion."

"Arthur, let's be honest, nothing I do is appropriate."

"It's your turn to speak."

"Okay, don't get your panties in a twist. What do you wanna hear?"

Arthur passes the reigns of the conversation to her by asking, "What are your plans for the holidays?"

"I'm going to do what I always do for Christmas: stay home and eat all of Matthew's cooking. Hopefully, his roommate will be away visiting family, so I'll be in a food coma all day," she says.

"Ah, speaking of Matthew, how is he faring?"

She's not sure why, but even mentioning Matthew makes her heavy-hearted. "He's fine. He's working on his law degree, so he's been busy."

"Do you see him throughout the day?"

"Sometimes. Less and less, lately. He's got his plate full though, so it's not his fault."

Arthur hums in agreement. "You must get lonely then, if you're on your own for most of the day."

"Not really. You must get lonely if you've resorted to one-upping your neighbor," she mutters, a sly expression in her eyes.

"Touché."

Before either of them get the chance to continue, the bell rings and Amelia hops out of the comfy armchair. "That's my cue. I've got trig and then P.E.—my favorite combination."

"Stay out of trouble."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"It's just a reminder," Arthur claims, a tad fiendish. "Now, out. I won't be happy if I find out you were late to class again."

Amelia scoffs. "Oh, I'm so scared."

"Keep it up, and I'll cut off your supply of sweets," he warns, lifting up the bowl of hard candies on his desk threateningly.

Cruel bastard.

* * *

She doesn't always look for trouble. Sometimes, it finds her against her consent, and there's nothing she can do to prevent the aftermath.

Like when Natalya comes up to her in the locker room while she's tying her hair into a ponytail and says, "I saw you jamming your tongue down Kiku's throat, you're lucky I didn't tell Ivan."

A lick of horror rushes down her spine. "Why didn't you?"

"Because I don't want to break his heart. You're a slut, and he'll find out eventually. When he does, he'll dump you, and you'll deserve it."

"He didn't tell you about the time I caught him making out with a sophomore? I guess he let forgot that detail. He's not a saint either," Amelia confesses before making her way for the gymnasium.

"My brother would never do that. You're a liar. Your entire life is a lie, and you're dragging him into the ground with you. Don't you have any shame?"

Amelia closes her eyes and opens them again when she's calmer. "Natalya, what did I ever do to you? My relationship with Ivan doesn't involve you, so why don't you just back off? He's a big boy, he can take care of his own love life."

Natalya's expression becomes even colder than usual, and she snarls, "You're a monster. The only way you made it to your junior year is by sleeping with—"

The dam breaks. The bomb explodes. Hell's hounds come pouring out and tectonic plates collide.

She pins Natalya against the row of lockers and watches her cower like the yellow mole she is. "You don't know _anything_ about me."

Natalya screams—screams so loud that the gym teacher comes bursting through the doors and orders Amelia to go to the dean's office faster than she can let Natalya go.

Fantastic.

* * *

The deans scold her first. One of them gives her detention for two weeks and almost suspends her, but a call to Arthur's office remedies that. Apparently, Arthur puts in a good word for her, because instead of being sent home and having a litany of school administrators get involved in the situation, she is sent to the man's office for one of his infamous lectures.

She has the decency to look at least somewhat guilty as she walks through his door, and the glare he gives her makes her want to shrink and hide. Two hours ago, they were laughing and joking about the holidays, and now, she's waist-deep in drama.

"You're lucky you haven't been expelled. You laid your hands on another student, and that's absolutely unacceptable," he begins, looking very disappointed. It hurts her to see him so angry, even though it shouldn't.

"But she—"

He holds up a hand to stop her. "There's no excuse. You're going to apologize to that girl, and you're going to be doing plenty of in-school community service to make up for it."

"This isn't fair! She should get some kind of punishment too. She verbally harassed me."

"Amelia, this is the last time I'll mitigate the wrath of the deans for you. You need to take responsibility for your actions."

She doesn't know why she keeps expecting justice to come frolicking over. Nothing remotely just has happened to her in seventeen years, and that's not going to change now.

"Whatever," she grouches, avoiding Arthur's piercing gaze.

"Your brother will have to be informed of this."

"This keeps getting better."

Arthur tsks and although he is clearly exasperated, there's some other emotion on his face too—something that almost looks like… sympathy. "I never want to see you in my office for disciplinary reasons, again. Do you understand? The only reason you should be in here is for our sessions."

"Okay."

"Amelia," he states with a firm frown. "You're above reacting to petty name-calling. People with characters like those… they're not worth getting upset over."

She knows he shouldn't be saying something like that to her—it's definitely not allowed under school policy—but she needs to hear it, and she's glad he says it.

"It's going to be okay, Amelia."

She's been waiting to hear that for years. It's a platitude, but she doesn't care. It's enough. She hides her stinging eyes behind her hands and whispers, "Don't send me back there again. Can I stay here until the period ends?"

Arthur is ready to tell her no, but then he sees the fatigue in her shoulders and how badly her leg is quaking.

Begrudgingly, he says, "All right. Just this once."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Hello, everyone! I hope you all had a lovely holiday. I'm back with yet another chapter, so please let me know what you think!

* * *

"Amelia, you can't keep doing this. I wanted to give you space. I didn't want you to feel like I was pressuring you, but you're really leaving me no choice."

Matthew isn't temperamental by nature. He wouldn't hurt a fly, and Amelia's quite sure he's got the gentlest soul that's ever been bestowed upon a person, but somehow, she has managed to corrupt him as well. His eyes are full of a muted fury, and he's in parent-mode even though Amelia wishes he would look at her like she's his sister again.

He scolds her on a weekly if not daily basis, but this speech is different from the others. The tremor in Matthew's voice as he roots his hands on the kitchen table makes that clear. He is a nervous-wreck, and it reminds Amelia of her mother—how she wept on the bathroom floor, wails echoing against porcelain and glass as she lost all faith in redemption until she became stone-cold and hollow. No light. No hope. She withered into nothing. Death is humbling like that.

In a similar fashion to how their mother used to play her cards, Matthew makes a fantastic show of being oblivious because he thinks they can go about living _normal_ lives if they simply forget the past, but Amelia won't let him get away with it. The past is the catalyst. It's the shadow that will follow them to the end of the earth.

"I've made you a doctor's appointment. I think we're dealing with something that could be too serious to fix with counseling alone."

Fix? Why does she need to be fixed? What's wrong with her the way she is?

She replays her brother's words in her mind to make sure she hasn't misunderstood him. "What? You mean like you're sending me to a psychologist or something?"

"Psychiatrist," Matthew corrects, careful not to look at Amelia for too long. "Sometimes, chemical imbalances in the brain can cause the types of behavioral issues you're having. It's not your fault. It's biological."

He's saying it to convince himself. He thinks some medication will make them a happy, little family.

A fire flares up in Amelia's stomach, and she grips the edge of her chair to keep herself steady. "S-Shouldn't that be like a last resort or something?"

"It is a last resort. We've reached that point."

"Matt, I'm not—"

"Yes, you are sick."

It's not supposed to sound so harsh, but it makes Amelia recoil. "You c-can't do that! How do you even know—?"

"Arthur suggested it."

He wouldn't.

"Isn't the stuff I talk about with him confidential? Why would he go to you about something like that?"

Matthew pushes his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose and frowns. "It's confidential unless there's a serious issue that needs professional consultation. Besides, I was the one who requested his help in the first place, so it's—"

"Wait. What?"

"Who do you think called your school and asked them to set you up with a counselor? I wanted you to have someone else to talk to because you're definitely not talking to me. The deans found Arthur and asked him to schedule a meet-up so the three of us could get together and discuss your counseling."

She's going to puke. "And you did all of this behind my back?"

"What else was I going to do? You wouldn't have agreed to it if I had talked to you about it first."

Arthur wouldn't—no, he would.

And she opened up to him like a cardboard box wrapped in ribbon. Stupid…

"I'm not going to a psychiatrist," she decides.

"It's not as bad as you think it is. It's just one appointment. He'll ask you a few questions, take a look at you, and if he doesn't find anything dire, you don't have to go again, all right?"

"No."

"Amelia, please."

"I said no."

"You attacked that girl! You're completely out of control, and I don't know how else to handle it!"

"I didn't attack her. I just shoved her against a locker. There's a big difference."

"This isn't a joke!"

He pounds a fist against the table, and the plates they've set up for dinner clatter and shiver. "Maybe you would've been better off with Dad. He never had these problems with you."

Caught in a stampede of emotions, Amelia gets on her feet, sizing Matthew up. They shouldn't be fighting like this. They used to love each other. They used to stand by one another, but now all she feels is a twisting contempt where her compassion used to be. "Dad? How can you even say that to me? I was better off with Dad?"

"You listened to him!"

"I was better when he was beating me into the ground? Was it better when he told me what a vile daughter I was? When he told me I would spend the rest of my days whoring myself around for a living because I wasn't good enough for anything else? That was better? How can you say that?" she snaps, fighting to tame her anger.

"I just meant things were easier back then," Matthew murmurs, already regretting ever mentioning their parents.

"No, it wasn't easier, and until you can admit that to yourself, you will never understand what I'm going through. Why don't you make yourself a damned appointment to a psychiatrist?"

"Amelia, I shouldn't have—"

"Don't. Forget it. I'm going to bed."

She makes her way up the stairs and runs into Gilbert along the way. The irritating jerk must have had a serious fight with his girlfriend because he's been around far too often for comfort.

"You pissed off Matt again?" he asks.

She throws back the words he used with her the other day. "Don't worry your pretty, little head over it."

"Ouch. That bad?"

"Go away."

So he does.

* * *

She's not surprised when Arthur comes after her the next day during lunch. She's sitting in her usual spot with Ivan in the cafeteria, and when she feels a figure standing behind her, she turns her head to the side and ignores it. She has nothing left to say to the man.

"Amelia, you're late for our session. Come on. I won't wait around all day."

"Then don't."

"What's put you in such a foul mood? If this is about your detention and community-service, then I'm afraid you're going to have to put on a stiff upper-lip and manage somehow," he goads, as sardonic and infuriating as usual.

"Leave me alone."

"I can't."

"Because you're under orders not to?" Amelia hisses, scowling. "I don't need you, the deans, or my brother to make decisions for me."

Arthur cocks his head at her in confusion and wipes the wry smirk off his face. "Why don't we talk about this in my office, hmm? I'm sure it's all just a misunderstanding."

"Oh, I haven't misunderstood anything, believe me."

From beside them, Ivan watches the exchange with peaking curiosity. He's already forgiven Amelia for the incident with his sister, and although Amelia is surprised by his sudden clemency, she knows better than to question him. It's not the first time he's acted strange.

"Is everything okay?" he asks Arthur, appearing quite innocent. He has a way of getting most adults to like him at first sight, the exact opposite of Amelia.

"Yes, my apologies, lad. This a personal matter that isn't best discussed in here. Amelia, you don't have to come in for the session if you don't want to, but I would like to have a quick word to clear things up. Would that be all right?"

"No, that's not all right," she retorts immediately and goes back to peeling an orange. "I'm trying to eat."

"You can bring the food with you."

Ivan jumps in before Amelia can stop him. He puts his hand over hers and says, "It's not polite to ignore people. You should go."

Arthur nods, beguiled by the backup. "Your friend is absolutely right."

This must be Ivan's way of getting vengeance. Fine, let him get it out of his system then. After shooting a pointed glower in his direction, she stands and follows Arthur out into the hallway, choosing to leave her lunch behind. Ivan will gladly eat it for her.

When they're halfway to the counselor's office, Amelia stops and shakes her head. "You know, for the past two weeks, you had me fooled. I thought you were actually going to be normal and an unbiased listener, but I was wrong. This whole time, you've been psychoanalyzing me, and now you've convinced my brother that I have some kind of depression or something. You've made everything a thousand times worse."

Arthur stares back at her. He's the only one with the guts to meet her gaze. "That's not true."

"Okay then, so why did the deans want me to start meeting with you?"

"I told you, they thought your behavioral issues could better be addressed through counseling."

"Except it was my brother who asked them to contact you."

"I didn't know that at first. Even so, I don't see what the problem is."

"I thought you were talking to me because you wanted to. I thought you car—never mind. The only reason I'm having these stupid sessions is so that the school doesn't have a lawsuit on their hands if they don't offer guidance to a 'troubled' student. You clearly think I'm psychotic, and now you're passing me over to some doctors who might know what to do with me. Are you going to ask me if I killed my mother too?"

Arthur's eyebrows skyrocket up the length of his forehead. "I don't think you're psychotic. That's not the way to speak about mental illness, and what's this about your mother? I have no idea what you're going on about. Amelia, why don't we calm down and talk about this inside?"

"No, I'm done talking. All anyone ever does is use me."

She storms away toward the cafeteria again, and Arthur rushes after her, pleading with her to be rational.

"My Lord, you can be dramatic," he huffs, a bit out of breath. "Contrary to what you might believe, I _am_ trying to help you, but you're making it awfully difficult. I explained to your brother that it would be important to ensure that there aren't any underlying medical concerns that we should address. Counseling isn't going to do you any good if you have, for example, a serotonin deficiency. Now, I'm fairly certain you're just fine, but we have to be sure. It's a precaution. If Matthew chooses to continue outside consultation with someone else, that is out of my control. It's clear you've been under some emotional stress, and we need to make sure we take care of a few fundamental things first."

"Emotional stress?" Amelia rasps, conflicted between staying and running off again.

"Yes. I would say that fighting with a student is a sign of some kind of emotional stress. I would be more than happy to talk about this at full length later. Can I expect to see you on Friday?"

No, no, no, no, no.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Excellent. I'll let you get back to your lunch, then. Stop frowning like that—you'll get wrinkles."

Amelia rolls her eyes. She shouldn't be putting up with his sass. "You would know all about it."

It's impossible to stay mad at him.

* * *

Kiku is a nice boy, too nice for the likes of her. He's shrewd, insufferably smart, and always treats her with the utmost kindness even though she doesn't deserve any of it.

Their one kiss together was better than the hundreds she's exchanged with Ivan, but that's a dangerous revelation she knows she mustn't dwell on. It's in both of their interests if she stops hanging around him. The last thing she wants is for him to run into trouble with Ivan. His jealousy knows no bounds, and if he finds out the true extent of their "English project", someone is going to end up with a bloody nose.

She will teach herself to love Ivan if she must. Tonight, they're going to one of Antonio's infamous parties. His parents are out of town on a business trip, and with Christmas less than two weeks away, it is probably the last major event she will be forced to go to until winter break ends.

"Wear the black blouse from our date the other day."

"I always wear that. Maybe I'll try something new?"

"No, the black blouse is flattering. It makes you look thinner."

She hums in thought and balances her cellphone between her ear and her shoulder. "You think I'm fat?"

"You've gained a little weight," he admits. "It's not very noticeable though."

"If it's not noticeable, then how do you know about it?"

"Well, I notice everything about you, no matter how small."

"Of course you do."

"Are you almost ready?"

"I would be ready sooner if I wasn't talking to you."

"Okay, I'll meet you there at seven?"

"Sounds good."

"Be careful, kitten. See you later."

She drops her phone on her bed, jitters crawling up her sides. Something's not right. Ivan is being horrifically sweet lately, and she hasn't decided if this is a cause for concern or not. Odds are, he's in a good mood because of how well the football season has gone this year, and he's pretty much going to be guaranteed a scholarship to some higher-tier university by the time he graduates. As long as she keeps doing his projects for him, anyway.

"Where are you going?"

She stumbles over a lone slipper on the floor and cranes her head up. Gilbert is in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes glinting with mischief. He's paler than usual and reeks of cheap cologne. Amelia has concluded that his girlfriend probably broke things off with him because they haven't spoken to each other in a while, and Gilbert's been more sullen than she's accustomed to. Sucks for him.

"Out."

"Out where? Mattie grounded you."

"Yeah, well, Matt's not my dad."

"He's close enough, and you should listen to him. He's still upset about whatever trouble you got into at school, so why don't you give him time to cool down? Don't stress him out again as soon as he comes back from his night class."

It's weird. Gilbert is far from responsible, and he's the last person Amelia would've expected to guilt-trip her.

"Why do you care what I do?"

"I don't. I care about you hurting Mattie. He's my best friend."

Amelia sighs and throws a jacket over the blouse Ivan insisted she wear. "Look, I have to go. If I don't, someone else is going to get hurt."

"What do you mean?"

"It's none of your business."

She snatches her bag off of the dresser, smooths her hair with her fingers to make it somewhat presentable, and brushes past Gilbert. He clasps a hand around her wrist before she makes it to the front door, and she jerks against the contact, unable to suppress fear from ringing alarm bells in her head. It's the second time she's flipped out under his grasp.

Gilbert notices it too. "Who hit you?"

Now he's suddenly observant too? Where has she been, and who stole the real Gilbert?

"Stop being a freak," she says with closed eyes, shaking. When Gilbert doesn't reply, she swings the door open and walks out, pretending not to feel his sharp gaze on her back as she staggers away.

* * *

Parties with the football team are nothing but a showcase. The girls from school doll themselves up—fluff their bangs, strap on heels that hurt, and create a kind of hackneyed procession as they traipse inside like little accessories waiting to be worn and played with.

She's the hot mess of the group, but when Ivan takes her under his wing, he struts about with her as though she is just as glitzy and glamorous as the others. She makes some small talk and wanders away to mingle every once in a while, but somehow always ends up by Ivan's side again as though they are conjoined. She doesn't mind it because being with Ivan means she doesn't have to do as much of the talking. She can simply sit back on the couch with her head on his chest and half-listen to him talk about sports with Vash and Antonio.

The animated chatter dies down after an hour or so, and after Ivan has had a little to drink, he stamps his lips onto hers and smiles. The tip of his nose is ice-cold.

"You lied to me," he grumbles, continuing his kissing.

Ivan is safe. Ivan is security.

"About what?"

"Oh, my kitten, you know."

She draws herself in closer and cups a hand around his head. He needs to be coddled to soothe his ego. They are perfectly twisted. "I'll know if you tell me, babe. I can't read minds."

"Kiku," he sings, nibbling her lip before suddenly digging his teeth into it, strong enough to draw blood. "I don't like it when you lie to me, honey."

Damn it, Natalya.

She tries to pull away, but Ivan snaps her back and wraps his hands around her neck, clawing at the skin.

And that's when she knows he is no longer safe. He will hurt her too. Even Ivan... Ivan, whom she trusted.

"Ivan, darling… I'm sorry. It didn't mean anything, so I didn't want to mention it. It was one time, and it was stupid. I don't know what I was thinking. You know I love you more than anything else in the world."

He wraps a hand around her neck and tightens it, pressing another kiss to her bleeding lip. "Oh, Amelia, lie after lie."

"Ivan, please. Don't…" she gasps, a tear sneaking out of her eyes. She prepares herself for the unthinkable—worries that he will punish her until she is broken even more beyond repair—but as powerful and dominating as Ivan is, he wouldn't do that to her. Even he will not take it that far.

He lets go after he's done enough damage to bruise her neck. He doesn't make another move on her after that, which Amelia is infinitely thankful for.

"You should go," he tells her.

"Ivan, wait. I'm—"

"Go home."

One more glance at him, and she grabs her things and runs, struggling for breath by the time she makes it outside. Jelly-legged, she makes it home a few minutes before the clock strikes ten, entering to find Gilbert sipping sparkling water and watching a rerun of some German soap-opera on television.

She must still look rather panicked because Gilbert lowers the volume of the T.V. and furrows at her.

"I-Is Matt home?" she asks before he can interrogate her.

"Yeah, he's in the shower."

"Did he seem angry?"

"Yup. Wanna tell me why you're bleeding?"

She licks her bottom lip and grimaces at the metallic taste. "Hah. Guess I've been biting my lip too much."

Gilbert gives her a pitying look, and it makes Amelia feel a few years younger. "And your neck?"

She touches the swelling scratches and shrugs. "I think I'm getting some kind of rash. It's really gross and might be contagious, so you shouldn't get too close."

"You looked fine a few hours ago."

"I'm tired. Tell Matt I went to bed, and he can yell at me tomorrow. Don't tell him anything else."

Gilbert is still dumb enough to keep her secrets.

* * *

The waiting room looks like every other waiting room she's ever had the displeasure of sitting in—quiet, dreary, and heavily stocked with celebrity magazines. She plays a few games on her phone to spare herself the abuse of reading about some pop star's new baby. Matthew has brought along one of his books for his law class, squeezing in extra study time.

Absently, she listens to the receptionist set up appointments and discuss insurance information with people on the phone. This place had better have some snacks hidden away somewhere. After all, this dude's a child/adolescent psychiatrist, and there are kids younger than her here, so the least they could offer her is a Dum-Dum or a Twizzler.

"Ms. Jones?"

She stands and pulls her bag closer to her chest. The doctor is a happy-go-lucky guy with a beard like Santa Clause.

He looks up from a folder with her name on it and smiles. "Come on down."

Behind her, Matthew asks, "Want me to go with you?"

"I'd rather go alone," she mumbles back, hating how disappointed he looks. "Thanks though."

"Yeah, well, I'll be waiting right here when you're done."

"I know."

She follows Dr. Santa Clause into a cozy looking room and braces herself for the worst.

All in all, it's not as personal as she thought it would be, which is relieving. Just like that, Arthur has earned her trust back for being right.

She gets asked a few standard questions, like if she's on any medication or if she has a history of mental illness in her family.

She answers with a no for the first question and then says, "My mother overdosed. Does that count?"

"Yes."

He doesn't ask her to expand upon it. She answers a couple more questions about anxiety and any other physical symptoms she feels regularly. Then, it's a quick blood test, and she's allowed to leave after the doctor briefs Matthew on the situation.

"She should continue the counseling she's getting at school. I think that's the best treatment plan for her at the moment, and I don't want to give her anything for anxiety or depression unless she absolutely needs it. I'd like to see her for a follow-up in two months."

When they leave the office, she smirks at Matthew and mutters, "Guess I'm not as crazy as you thought."

"That's not funny. In fact, it's offensive to people who are actually sick."

"Oh, lighten up."

He's not amused by her sarcasm, which is a shame, but he's never been one to laugh at himself. The idealist inside him doesn't allow him to be anything other than the pinnacle of seriousness.

"Don't skip any more sessions with Arthur."

"Okay."

"Do you promise?"

"Yeah."

Matthew sighs, straightens his back, and puts an arm around her shoulders. "I wish I could believe you."

"Me too."

* * *

On Friday, she tells an exaggerated version of what happened at the doctor's to Arthur, recalling the "horrors".

"And then he said he was going to cut my brain open."

Arthur plays along, boiling some water in the electric tea kettle that he's finally set up in his office. Amelia argues that all of the caffeine can't possibly be good for him because he drinks at least five cups of strong, black tea throughout the school day, but she has never won an argument against Arthur, and she's not about to start. He's even offered her a cup multiple times, but she isn't much of a tea person.

"I was sorely tempted to do it myself last week."

"Yeah, so I have like twenty-four hours to live now."

"Mmm, I see. What are you planning to do with those precious hours?"

"Sit in trig class," she jokes, leaning back. The scratches and bruises on her neck have been covered with a thick layer of makeup for the past two days and are beginning to show signs of healing. She hasn't spoken to Ivan since the incident, careful to avoid his usual hangout spots, but without Ivan to stand beside, she isn't sure what to do with herself. She has gone back to being her loner and hailed weirdo self. He'll get over it eventually, she hopes.

"Hey, Arthur? Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can."

"Is mental illness genetic?"

Arthur pours a small packet of sugar into his teacup and stirs it. "It depends on the type of illness. Unfortunately, our knowledge of the brain and mental health is limited. There are still plenty of things researchers haven't uncovered yet."

"Oh, okay."

"Why? Is there something you're concerned about?"

She hesitates, but since he asked, maybe she should get it out in the open now. He's going to find out anyway. In fact, she thinks he might already know more than he's letting on, he's just giving her the time she needs to say it. "My mom was really depressed for a while. I was only ten when she…"

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. It's okay."

"Yeah, so I was just wondering, y'know… If that kind of stuff means I'm more likely to be depressed or something…"

Arthur clears his throat and takes a taste of his tea. "Not necessarily, no."

"All right... Umm, so, did you talk to Ms. Hedervary, yet? She's the sweetest European history teacher ever."

"I've already told you that your attempts to set me up on any date will fail."

"Aww, come on! Give it a chance! Somewhere underneath that crusty exterior, I'm sure you're a hip bachelor looking for some action," she laughs, eyes lighting up.

"Brat…"

"I asked her if she knows you, and she was like, 'The one with the British accent?' It's a good sign!"

Arthur groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can never show his face in the history department again. "You didn't," he mourns.

"I did."

"Why can't you accept the fact that someone might be happy to be alone?"

"You're in denial."

"I am _not_."

The bells rings, and Amelia bounces out of her seat. "I guess that's our last session until the holidays are over, huh? Have a good Christmas."

"Yes, and you as well."

"I'll send Ms. Hedervary your best wishes too!" she chimes as she steps out.

"Amelia! Don't you dare!"

She pauses when she turns the corner, sneaking a peek back into the office to see Arthur pick up the candy cane and Christmas card she had left on his desk when he wasn't looking. After a second, he smiles softly, and Amelia's heart swells with joy and pride. It's not often that she's the cause of someone's happiness.

It's a feeling she will remember.


	4. Chapter 4

Walking into school after the long break is weird. The floors have been waxed, the bathrooms have been restocked with paper towels, soap, and toilet paper (all of which will be gone by ninth period), and the scent of pine wood wafts out of every classroom. The light in the auditorium has finally been repaired. The ceiling is no longer leaking on the sixth floor.

At least someone is still putting in effort.

Other than a few haircuts here and there, everyone looks the same as they did before the holidays—maybe they seem a little more mature, but not by much. Some people have had too many Christmas sugar cookies over the past two weeks and picked up some extra flub even though their New Year's Resolution was to lose weight.

Nothing has changed on the surface—as it should be.

And yet, things couldn't be any more different for Amelia. For one thing, Ivan is nowhere to be found, and although she has texted him more than once to garner his attention, he hasn't broken his vow of silence. In the morning, she waits by her locker in the hopes of running into him, but he's not among the usual sea of faces. It's as if he's fallen off the edge of the earth.

Amelia tries to convince herself he's probably off brooding somewhere. She wonders if this sudden silence is dangerous.

They've argued in the past, but never to this extent. What if this is one fight they can't resolve? What will he do then? Should she tell someone what happened at the party that one night and risk jeopardizing Ivan's entire future? Surely, he doesn't deserve it. He's been good to her—overbearing and protective at times, but still good. At least, it's the best Amelia's ever been treated by the opposite sex.

Arthur's office is the same too, except the Christmas decorations have been taken down, making the place seem hollower than she remembered it. There's also a new calendar on the wall filled with SAT vocabulary words, and she doesn't hesitate to make a face at it. Arthur can be such a dork.

"Did you miss me?" she asks as she lets herself in, cheeky smile carefully crafted into place. In a strange way, it's good to be back.

Arthur jerks his head away from the ever-growing mountain of papers on his desk and says, "Hmm, you're early for once."

"I thought I would start off the New Year with a different attitude. Don't get your hopes up though. I'll be twice as late on Wednesday to make up for it."

It's college applications/scholarships season, and the workload seems to have taken over Arthur's schedule. He tries to rake the scattering of manila envelopes and recommendation forms on his desk into a neat pile, but the pool of documents is too oversaturated to be contained. He tells Amelia he'll be with her in a moment, but one moment turns into ten, and when he's cut into nearly fifteen minutes of their session, he drops everything and groans. Even his pens and pencils are lost somewhere.

"Blast it," he grumbles, rubbing his eyes. "I'm sorry. As you can see, things have been busy lately, but that's no matter now. I trust you had a pleasant holiday?"

Amelia waves off the apology and nods. It's not a big deal. "It was all right—same as always. How about you? Did you beat your neighbor's show of Christmas lights?"

"Oh, of course I did. He had so many contraptions switched on at the same time that he blew up his fuse box. Serves him well, mind you. He spent both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day without power, so I did what any respectable person would have done—I invited him over for dinner, and we called for a temporary ceasefire," Arthur recounts, filling up his thermos with what seems to be another liter of tea. "I'm sure he'll find another way to irritate me, but I haven't heard a word out of him for a few days, which I'm grateful for."

Amelia begins to laugh and readies a response, but then her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she stills. "Uhh, sorry… It's an important text. Family stuff."

It's an offhand lie. The message is from a private number, and it's something she hasn't seen in a while—a threat.

" _You'll pay for what you did."_

She swallows against the rock in her throat and stows her phone into the front pocket of her jeans again. Whoever sent this is just trying to scare her, surely. Probably nothing to worry about.

Arthur cocks his head at her, eyes boring into hers. "Is everything all right? You're deathly pale."

"Who? Me? I'm fine. Never been better, Artie. It's only Matt. He's angry I didn't finish cleaning the dishes this morning. He's really anal about stuff like that," she says with a lofty grin, setting them both at ease. "Did I tell you I'm entering an art contest? It looks pretty cool, and you can win some decent money from it."

There isn't an art contest, and if there is, Amelia sure as hell isn't a participant, but it gets Arthur interested, and she hasn't fabricated a good story in a while, so where's the harm in it? Arthur can read through most of her petty lies, but the bolder ones are too straightforward for him to doubt, and she has found ways to gain his trust.

The bell takes awfully long to ring, but when it finally does, Amelia rushes out of her seat and toward the door, well aware of Arthur's skeptical gaze following her.

"Amelia?"

She grabs the doorframe with one hand and hangs a smile on her face. "Hmm?"

"You forgot your bag."

She looks at the floor beside the plush armchair and barks out a laugh. "I'm really losing my mind now, aren't I?"

Cheeks hot with frustration, she swings her bag over her shoulder and gives Arthur a mock salute.

There are things he doesn't have to know.

* * *

Ivan still isn't at lunch the next day, but Amelia has stopped imagining what he might be up to. Most likely, he hasn't finished licking his wounds, which means Amelia has more time to come up with a game plan.

She starts with Kiku. As always, he's sitting with a group of friends that look way too smart to be bothered with Amelia's company. They're probably discussing the next breakthrough in wireless charging while she loafs around and worries about her boyfriend's dance with lust.

Trying to be casual, she taps Kiku's shoulder, one arm tucked behind her back with a bashfulness she didn't know she possessed.

"Charizard is useless compared to Blastoise. Look at the stats on—Amelia?"

So maybe they aren't having such a complex conversation after all.

He flushes and shoves the textbooks off of the seat next to him, willowy bits of hair falling into his eyes. "Would you like to sit down?"

It's been a while since she's dazzled someone in a good way. "No, that's all right. I really shouldn't. Thanks though…"

"Oh, okay," he mumbles with an uncertain nod. "Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

Kiku's friends are looking on intently, but Amelia tunes them out with ease. She doesn't have time for distractions. She's here to get her point across and leave—anything else is too risky. "Yeah. Ivan's in one of his…moods again. Just wanted to give you a heads up. Keep an eye out and all that stuff, okay?"

Kiku doesn't appear to be startled by the news, but he does have quite an impressive poker face from what she's gathered. His expressions tend to be subdued.

"Thank you for the warning."

"I wish there wasn't anything to warn you about in the first place," Amelia sighs, forcing her frown into a half-smile. "Y-You might not see me for a while."

Kiku drums a finger on his pre-calculus textbook and clears his throat. "I understand."

"I'm sorry. Really."

"I know."

She squeezes the strap of her bag with one hand and decides they can at least end this on a high note. "Charizard is way better than Blastoise, by the way."

It's a damn shame. He really is a nice boy.

* * *

She doesn't realize how much she relies on Ivan until he's gone. He is the one who makes sense of her slow descent into insanity. He has never feared her—never asked her any questions that had the potential of digging in too deep. They have been comfortable together. It has been convenient.

So when she finds him strolling to Spanish class with another girl wrapped around his arm, she loses all feeling in her legs. He's laughing and murmuring through smiling lips, and Amelia knows he has never smiled at her like that. This smile is purer and tender.

Worse, she's beautiful—far more beautiful than Amelia remembers herself ever being. She is rabbit-nosed and petite, fitting perfectly into the width of Ivan's chest. She speaks in smooth, silky Russian, and her hair is the color of red autumn leaves. Everything about her is better—her skin, her body, her taste in shoes.

Amelia feels like a fool for standing within their proximity. Her neon-green nail polish is chipping off of her half-eaten fingernails, the eyeliner she put on yesterday didn't want to come off in the shower and has succeeded to make her look like a raccoon, and she's wearing the same beat-up sneakers she's been wearing for a majority of the semester.

Ivan casts her an apathetic glance, revealing nothing. He doesn't look sad or angry or even surprised to see her.

She turns her head and walks away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. It doesn't matter now. He has made his choice clear, and Amelia always wondered why he didn't look for someone else sooner. Even so, that doesn't stop a hot flash of fury from igniting in her gut. All that time spent together, and he has already hired a replacement?

Then again, he probably already started seeing her behind her back.

The bell rings. It snaps her out of her trance, and she heads for Arthur's office, dreading their session. It's not a good day for talking, and even though talking conditions are never optimal in Amelia's book, today's forecast is particularly shitty.

She stumbles toward her new best friend—Arthur's chair—and darkly considers whether she could get a State court to allow her to marry an inanimate object if she presented a strong case. The chair is always here for her to rest her tired bones on, doesn't care if she rambles or stays silent, never judges her for her past crimes, and hasn't made a single comment about whether or not her weight is ideal for chair-sitting related activities.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asks before she even puts her bag down.

She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose and steadies herself. Arthur has been telling her to count down from ten when she's in danger of losing her temper—that's supposedly the peak length of how long an intense emotion can be experienced. If she survives the first ten seconds, she might not feel the need to strangle someone anymore.

"Why does something _always_ have to be wrong? I'm lovely, thanks for asking. Things couldn't be any better."

Arthur scoffs and puts his chin in his hand. "You're never this positive in regards to your outlook on life. We have forty minutes for me to get a real answer out of you."

"Well, you're not going to get one. Not today. Let me be pissed off for once," Amelia counters, leaning back in her loyal chair. Mr. Chair might make a great partner after all. He's a little on the quiet side maybe, but Amelia never has been picky with those kinds of character traits.

"I always let you be upset when you want to be upset. However, letting yourself feel angry is only all right as long as it doesn't become destructive. And you, my dear, have a tendency to fall into the destructive category," Arthur explains, blinking at her thoughtfully. "Is this about Matthew again?"

"No, it's not always about Matthew, you know."

"Was it a teacher?"

"Nope."

"A friend?"

"Not really."

"A trigonometric equation?"

Amelia snorts, enjoying how the more time she spends with Arthur, the more she gets to see his blunt sense of humor. "Good guess, but nah."

"Hmm, well then, this wouldn't happen to be about a boy, would it?"

The inquiry sounds oddly comical coming from Arthur's mouth. They've never discussed Amelia's romantic endeavors before, and though it doesn't make her uncomfortable to talk about it with him, it is a little foreign. The only time they talk about romance is when Amelia gives him the details about another potential date he might be able to snag with a faculty member. They've joked about Arthur dating Ms. Payne, one of the gym teachers, numerous times—but that's all it was, a joke.

Amelia twists the ends of her hair between her fingers and shrugs. "You might be getting closer."

"Yes, I see the problem now. I suppose the best advice I can give you is not to worry over it too much. Boys at this age are hardly anything to be desired. They're still in an embryotic state, I'm afraid. It'll be a while before they mature, and some never do," Arthur tells her with a chuckle.

"This is different," Amelia mumbles, anger now replaced by sorrow. "It's more complicated than you think. The person I was with… I trusted him, on some level anyway. I mean, he would do things I didn't agree with, but he looked out for me. He didn't treat me like the mess I am. He made me feel like there was still something good in me—something delicate and worth loving… I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense now."

The look of grief in Arthur's eyes returns, like he has million things to say but can only settle for one. He rests his elbows on his desk and leans forward to meet her gaze, stern-faced and inexplicably worried.

"Amelia, you're—you're a wonderful girl the way you are. You carry yourself with such tenacity and perseverance. You fight, even when any reasonable person would have surrendered already. You're a cheeky little brat, and it's absolutely wonderful. Don't allow some boy to be the only thing you look toward to validate your worth. Of course there's good in you."

This is the second time she will allow herself to shed a tear in front of Arthur, and she hopes it will be the last. It isn't fair. He's not allowed to say things like that. He can't break down things so easily and show her where she went wrong. He's not allowed to say she's good when she's clearly not.

She hides her face behind her hands and mutters, "I hated him. I hated him, but I needed him. Do you know what that's like?"

"It doesn't sound like a healthy relationship to me."

Too raw to hold back, she laughs and drops her head into her lap, voice muffled. "Healthy? We were the exact opposite of healthy. I must have appreciated it though, otherwise I wouldn't be flipping out that he's with another girl now."

Arthur clicks his tongue at the news. "I'm sorry. When did you find out?"

"A few minutes ago."

"Oh, Amelia…"

"It's okay. He was just biding his time. We both were. I feel stupid for thinking he ever valued me."

"You're not stupid. It's natural to feel this way."

Amelia has noticed everything is natural to Arthur. It's something he says often, but he probably doesn't pay it much attention. It's a curious thing to say, though. It's true, everything is natural. In one way or another, everything that happens to us has happened to someone else as well. We aren't the first to feel pain or to cry until our eyes burn. We are all lowly men, and we are all natural in regards to life.

Someone, somewhere, has had an Ivan in their lives. Has spilled their thoughts to him and asked him to spend the night. Has held him in their arms and hoped they would stay just so they wouldn't have to be alone in the darkness. Has relied on him to be the wall to separate them from the outside world.

It is natural.

* * *

There's some kind of uproar going on by her locker. The drama class in the room across the hall has been let out early by their teacher, and they gawk and cry out at something as they walk, unsure whether to giggle or gasp. As Amelia draws nearer, she sees her combination lock lying defeated on the tiled floor, clipped and smashed. A rushing flood of impending doom hits her ribcage as she sees the dented remains of her locker, beaten and covered with graffiti done in permanent marker.

The door to the locker is barely intact—it's flung open and hanging on by a hinge of metal, threatening to fall at any second. Across its front it reads, " _Now you know how it feels to lose something._ "

Her belongings have been ransacked. Her coat is missing, along with the Metrocard for the subway that she kept in its pocket. The tiny, magnetic mirror she kept in the back is cracked, her notebooks have been torn to shreds, and the only thing that looks salvageable are her textbooks. Apparently, no one wanted her math textbook, so she still doesn't have an excuse to not do the homework. The one thing she wanted someone to burn is pristine and untouched, gleaming back at her with cheer.

Fortunately, she keeps her phone and wallet with her at all times, so nothing of extreme importance is missing besides the coat. Still, not having the coat is a bummer because it's cold as balls outside, and she's not sure if she has any actual money in her wallet for a new Metrocard. She doesn't like asking Mattie for money, so she's been walking around penniless for a few weeks now.

She should report the incident, but it's the end of the day and most of the administrative offices are closing. There aren't any security guards nearby either. She can always hail one down tomorrow and request a new locker, if there are any left. Otherwise, she'll be lugging her things around like a pack mule for the next couple of months.

She doesn't doubt this is another one of Natalya's masterpieces, but she doesn't have any hard evidence against her, and it's unlikely anyone will be held accountable. Hell, knowing the deans' office, they'll find a way to make it seem like it was Amelia's fault, and she'll end up right back where she started.

She takes the damn math textbook and leaves, ignoring the sound of the locker's door finally collapsing onto the ground with a loud clatter.

At first, it's a relief to be outside. She takes in a big gulp of the winter air and lets it refresh her, glad to be out of the humid maze of the school. Sooner rather than later, however, the cold nips at her skin and makes her shiver. The wind chill is all-powerful this afternoon, and she agonizes over the loss of her coat for a little longer. She makes it to the intersection and gives herself a minute to think about what to do now.

She doesn't have any money for the subway, so she'll have to walk home. The only problem is that the apartment is a good forty blocks from where she is now, meaning she's bound to contract pneumonia by the time she makes it there.

Snow is still falling from the sky in fluffy chunks and landing in her hair. It's not a pleasant type of snow by any means. In fact, it's mixed with quite a bit of rain, filling the entire city in a horrid cluster-fuck of slush and partly-formed hail.

Well then, there's only one option, it seems. She'll just walk right into traffic and end it while she's ahead. Mattie will be devastated, but he'll find himself a decent wife and eventually forget about the whole thing. And Gilbert—he'll be glad to have one less person in the cramped apartment.

She doesn't have the resolve to actually do it though, so she stands by the crosswalk for a while and wishes she were an abandoned kitten or a puppy. People love young animals. She'd be picked up by some family in a heartbeat. They'd rename her Cupcake or Princess or some other generic name, and she'd nap all day and lick her butt. Not a bad life. Not a bad life at all.

She wouldn't want to be a rabbit. Those things die at the sight of a vacuum cleaner.

"Excuse me, madam. What have you gotten yourself into now?"

There's an umbrella over her head, and when she cranes her neck around to see her rescuer, it's just Arthur. His hair is a little more unruly than usual, and without wasting a second, he shrugs out of his beige overcoat and tosses it over Amelia's shoulders.

Fingers frozen, she reaches up to pull the warm fabric closer. "T-Thanks."

"How long have you been standing out here?" he asks, standing in the gray, cable-knit sweater Amelia saw him wearing earlier.

"I'm not sure anymore, honestly."

"Is this all you wore to school?"

For some reason, the question makes her feel the need to be defensive. Does he really think she's dumb enough to walk through the snow in just a sweatshirt?

"No, I had a jacket," she huffs.

"What happened to it?"

"It got stolen."

"Stolen? How did—? Never mind that. You can tell me later. Let's get you inside with something warm to drink," he decides, leading her to the diner down the block. It's a quick walk, but it seems like forever.

When they arrive, Amelia heads for the most appealing booth as Arthur closes his umbrella and shakes the slushy snow off of his boots. A friendly waitress comes up to her less than a minute later, notepad at hand.

"What can I get you, hun?"

Amelia frowns. She doesn't want to admit she doesn't have any cash on her, so she says, "I'm fine, thanks."

Just then, Arthur reaches the table and orders instead. "Some tea and a cup of hot chocolate, please."

He pauses to look at Amelia and is caught between sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you hungry?"

Amelia stuffs her thawing fingers into the pockets of Arthur's overcoat and says, "I can't pay you back."

"Don't worry about that. Are you hungry?"

"A little," she admits. She's normally home by this time, and she's known for sneaking in snacks before dinner.

The waitress shifts her gaze between them and hands Amelia a menu. "Take your time, kiddo."

Amelia nods as the waitress leaves, and Arthur sits down. He doesn't say anything at first and pretends to busy himself with examining the condiments lined up at the end of the table.

Then, he looks up at her and furrows. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

It sounds silly in retrospect, but he's been so kind to her that she supposes he deserves the truth. "Someone broke into my locker and took some of my stuff."

She leaves out the whole part about her ex-boyfriend's crazy sister for obvious reasons.

"Do you have any idea who might've done it?"

"Uhh, no. There are plenty of people who don't like me. It's hard to say," she lies, thanking the waitress when she comes back with their beverages. She orders a BLT sandwich, and then the woman bustles off toward the kitchen again. "I didn't have the subway fare to get home… so yeah…"

Arthur shakes his head and deepens his frown when Amelia burns her tongue on the hot chocolate. "Why didn't you call your brother?"

"He's busy at work, and then he has a night class."

"Busy or not, this is an emergency situation. He would understand."

Amelia eats the whipped cream and marshmallows perched on top of the hot chocolate first. "I don't know. It's hard to go to him sometimes."

"Call him and tell him where you are."

"B-But I—"

"Amelia."

"Fine," she grumbles, plucking her phone out of her pocket. She dials Mattie's number and waits for a response. As expected, the call goes to voicemail, so she leaves him a message instead. Telling him she's at a diner with her guidance counselor sounds wrong and borders on perturbing, but it'd be worse if Matthew didn't know Arthur. When she's done, she looks to the man for approval.

"Thank you," he says as Amelia's sandwich is brought out. "Eat, and then I'll swipe you in at the train station when you're done."

"I could've jumped the turnstile."

Arthur narrows his eyes at her. "You're in enough trouble as it is."

"I know. It was a bad joke."

She clears her plate, and they head out into the blizzard/rainstorm again. Arthur gets her a hat and scarf from a street vendor that both say, "I love NY." She complains about how tacky and touristy it is, but he shoves the hat onto her head and coils the scarf around her neck without a care.

"You're going to wear it, and you're going to like it," he instructs before heading off toward the train station. They make their way down the steps and, true to his word, Arthur pays the fare for her with his own Metrocard and escorts her to her train before they part ways.

"With the type of service we get here, the subway should be free. They keep hiking up the fare, but everything is increasingly crappier," Amelia mutters, returning Arthur's coat to him. "Thanks again."

"You're welcome. Tell Matthew I'll be calling him tomorrow."

"All right. Don't say too many bad things about me okay? He's already a nervous wreck."

"I'll do my best to restrain myself. Now, go straight home. Don't dawdle."

Amelia smirks, appreciating the concern. "Whatever you say, Artie."

And then the man is off to catch his own train, shoulders slumped with fatigue from all of the mayhem.

When he's out of earshot, Amelia lowers her eyes and smiles at the scarf still around her neck. "There's good inside of you too, Arthur. I don't think you see it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry for taking over a month to update this story. Expect more frequent updates in the future. Happy reading!

* * *

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

There's a festival of rain going on outside of Amelia's bedroom window tonight, and it's making it impossible to get any sleep. Every time she thinks she's close to dozing off, the tempo of the rain will pick up, or a bucketful of hail will hit the windowsill and rouse her out of her fitful tossing and turning. The past few weeks have been hell in terms of the weather, and she could use a three-day vacation to the Caribbean for some sunshine and warmth.

She pounds a fist against her pillow and tries to get comfortable again. At this rate, she'll be lucky if she gets four hours of sleep before she has to get up for school.

To make matters worse, Matthew is up to something because there's a whole lot of banging and angry curses echoing from his room across the hall. She might not have even noticed it if her ears weren't so sensitive and annoyed at the moment, but as it is, her usually silent brother sounds like he's fumbling around like a madman.

Maybe a quick stroll will tire her out. Mind made up, she rolls out of bed, feeling hot and tingly all over from lying in bed with insomnia for over two hours.

She finds her slippers in the dark and wiggles her toes into them while patting the night table for her glasses. Then, she stalks out into the hall, following the dim stream of light leaking out of Matthew's room.

"Matt? It's almost three in the morning," she whispers, pushing his door open all of the way.

Matthew's at his desk, a series of textbooks and notebooks lying beside him. His reading glasses are falling off the end of his nose, eraser shavings are dusting his lap, and his pencil has been thoroughly chewed. He finishes reading a page from one of the books before he looks up, purple rings under his eyes.

"Hey," he says awkwardly, taking to nibbling at his fingernails. "Everything all right?"

"I should be asking you that. Do you know what time it is?"

A smile flashes across his lips and he chuckles. "You sound like such a mom right now."

Before she realizes what she's doing, Amelia returns the smile, heart soaring. This is the real Matthew. The Matthew that's her brother and friend and talks to her like they're both just kids.

"Well, someone's gotta worry about you," she sighs once the moment of joy passes. "Studying isn't going to do you any good right now. You're better off getting some sleep."

"Can't sleep," Matthew mumbles, highlighting a line in his textbook.

"That makes two of us."

"Need a mug of warm milk?"

It's a teasing question, but a warm drink doesn't sound so bad right now, and Amelia will do anything to finally fall asleep. She hates long, never-ending nights like these. Hours of suffocating darkness in her room bring back memories she'd rather not dwell on.

"Yeah, actually."

Matthew catches her gaze and smiles again, but the clear fatigue etched on his face ruins the effect it should have. "All right, then. Let's go to the kitchen."

They navigate their way to the fridge with the light from Matthew's phone, both making an active effort not to wake up Gilbert. He can be quite the drama queen when he doesn't get a full round of beauty sleep.

"Two percent or whole milk?" Matthew asks her once they make the journey.

"Whole."

"You've got it."

Considering the circumstances, Matthew is in a surprisingly good mood. Maybe his exams are going well and all of the stress he's been putting himself through is paying off. Or maybe, he's trying to be pleasant for Amelia's sake.

"So, uh, what are you studying?" Amelia asks him once the milk is poured into a saucepan and set on the stove.

"Boring stuff, believe me. I'm doing contracts now."

"Oh…"

"Yeah, it's not the best topic to be reading about late at night. I think I'll take your advice and call it quits for now. How are you doing?"

"Not great," she responds, sitting on the counter next to the kitchen sink. "It's getting better though."

She waits to see if Matthew will press her for more information, but he never does. Part of her is relieved, and the other part is amused because it's highly likely that Arthur has told him to back off a little bit. It would explain his sudden change in behavior toward her.

"If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here," Matthew murmurs. They both know he's not being entirely truthful. He's hardly around, and when he is, he simply doesn't have the time to talk. Unless, it's three o'clock in the morning, then he's apparently available.

The milk starts to simmer, and Matthew turns off the burner of the stove, deciding it's warm enough. He turns to the cupboard to take out two mugs and says, "Want the pink cup? It's your favorite color."

Amelia lets out a short laugh and shakes her head. "No, it's not."

"But you always loved pink!"

"Yeah, in like the fourth grade."

"Huh," Matthew huffs with a frown. "What's your favorite color then?"

"Red."

"That's crazy. What else don't I know about you?"

She's not sure if he really wants to know the answer to that question, so she settles on, "A few things, I'd imagine."

Matthew pours her milk into the red mug and passes it to her, cautioning her that it might be a little on the hot side. Once their mugs are both filled, he raises his and clinks it against hers.

"Cheers," he declares before they both tip the mugs over and have a long sip. Soon, they both earn themselves impressive milk mustaches.

" _Was zum Teufel_!"

Angry German consonants bounce off the walls, and Amelia and Matthew exchange guilty smirks as Gilbert comes storming into the kitchen, red with rage.

"What are you doing? DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?"

"We should go back to bed," Matthew tells Amelia, standing up and taking his mug with him. He brushes past Gilbert with a barely suppressed grin and effectively ignores him. "Goodnight, Amelia."

Her brother hasn't changed so much after all.

"Goodnight, Matt."

"JA. I'M GLAD EVERYONE HAD A GOOD NIGHT."

And maybe Gilbert isn't a _complete_ bastard. She gives him a pat on the back as she leaves the kitchen, all of her conflicted feelings for him set aside at the moment. He's a pain in the neck, but a helluva funny pain in the neck sometimes.

"Goodnight to you too, Gil."

* * *

If there's one thing Amelia's positive she'll never miss about high school once she graduates, it's gym class. Whose bright idea was it to mandate students to have P.E. three times a week? She doesn't feel any more in shape than when she didn't have to take gym. She has learned by now that it must be a ploy to humiliate students into taking their physical health more seriously because there's nothing quite like getting publicly shamed in front of thirty of your peers for not being able to complete a set of push-ups.

Thankfully, although Amelia is far from the most athletic person in her class, she has enough stamina and strength to shield her from any ridiculing.

Or so she thinks until Natalya decides it'll be fun to step on her loose shoelace during their warm-up jog. Granted, it is partially Amelia's own fault for not tying her laces tight enough, but still…

She grunts when she hits the hardwood floor, stunned. Fortunately, she had enough sense to wear her contacts today, and the only thing that is damaged is her pride. That, and she may have sprained her ankle.

She staggers to her feet and glares at Natalya even though the girl's back is already turned. The rest of the class continues their jog, but she does get a number of sideway glances of surprise. One boy in the class even has the nerve to snicker and sneer at her.

Her gym teacher asks her if she's all right, and though Amelia does her best to regain her composure quickly, she can't hide the little limp in her walk from the fall.

"Take yourself to the nurse and get some ice," her teacher suggests, and Amelia readily agrees. It's a good excuse to get out of playing volleyball, and she gladly takes it.

She clumsily heads down the hallway and reaches the infirmary, only to be greeted by the sweetest old woman she's ever had the pleasure of meeting. She sits on the proffered bed and smiles when the nurse compliments her for the color of her nail polish and asks her how Amelia gets her hair to have so much volume. For a moment, Amelia almost forgets she's in the nurse's office and not at the park.

"I have a daughter about your age. This is a beautiful time in your life, you know," the nurse says as she eases Amelia's sneaker off of her right foot. "Things are never quite the same again."

If these are beautiful times, she can't wait to see the ugly times.

Wanting to be polite, Amelia nods and returns a gleaming smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Now, let's see here… It doesn't look bad. You should be all right if you stay off of your feet for a while. How many classes do you have left?"

"Three."

"Do you have anyone who could pick you up?"

Matthew's at work, and she really doesn't want to bother him with something as superficial as this. She can tough it out for the rest of the day.

"No, but I think I'll be able to sit through the rest of my classes."

"Hmm… If you say so. How about I wrap this up for you, and you can sit here until the bell rings?"

"That'd be great."

The nurse shares a few more stories about her family and puts an elastic bandage around Amelia's ankle, happy to have someone to talk to. She must sit in this office all day without many visitors. It's probably boring to have to sit around waiting for a student to get sick just so you can have some human contact.

When that's done, Amelia leaves a few minutes before the bell so she can get her things from the locker room and change out of her gym uniform. Then, it's off to class again, and it just so happens that she sees a familiar green sweater vest out of the corner of her eye before she reaches her English class.

"Hey, Artie!"

The man snaps his head around and furrows his brows, a scowl already forming on his face because of Amelia's horrible nickname for him.

"Get to class," he chides her, eyes narrowing when he sees the bandage peeking out from between her sneaker and the bottom of her jeans. "What happened to your foot?"

Amelia grins at the concern in his voice and wrinkles her nose. "It's a battle-wound from gym class. Things got a little rowdy during volleyball."

Arthur has become infuriatingly good at seeing through her lies, and it's becoming increasingly problematic. "Did someone knock into you?"

"Sort of. It's no biggie though."

"Hmph," he huffs, clearly not convinced. "All right."

"All right," Amelia agrees.

She starts to head off into the direction of her class, but then she hears Arthur release a long breath.

"Wait," he tells her, readjusting the stack of folders in his arms. "Amelia, if you're being… targeted, you'll be sure to let me know, yes?"

Has he really become that good at reading her?

She shrugs off his question and laughs. "That's a weird thing to ask."

" _Amelia_."

"Yeah, yeah. There's nothing for you to worry about."

"Okay," he sighs. "Hurry along before you're late."

"I'll have you know my attendance has been great lately," Amelia replies with a snort. "See you later."

"Goodbye."

* * *

Now that she doesn't have to go to Ivan's football games, Amelia finds herself with plenty of spare time on her hands. Finally, she has more time than she knows what to do with, and as a result, she has started spending her leisure time on the couch, watching reruns of sitcoms from the eighties. Other times, she even risks cracking open a textbook to do some reading.

The improvement in her grades is quite noticeable. Both Matthew and Arthur praise her for it, but it's a little humiliating to be treated like a third grader who just earned a gold star for good behavior, so she gets them to stop pointing it out.

But then there are days where there really isn't much work for her to get done, and so, she gets herself a big bowl of popcorn and does absolutely nothing aside from binge watch shows until her eyes feel like they're going to bleed.

On one such day, Gilbert decides to join her. He takes up the other half of the couch and watches the T.V. alongside her, occasionally making a comment about what's on screen, but mostly just relaxing without saying anything. It's nice to not have to be angry with Gilbert every time he walks within five feet of her.

A commercial break comes on, and Amelia considers the morose look in Gilbert's eyes. He hasn't spoken of his girlfriend for a long while now, and Amelia assumes this means things are officially over between them. She wants to ask about it just out of sheer curiosity, but she doesn't want to rock the boat after they've actually started being civil toward one another.

Fortunately, Gilbert beats her to it.

"You know, I spent so much of my life being a dumb kid," he grumbles, folding an arm behind his head. "I couldn't get things together. I was in relationships not because I was in love but because it was fun. It kept my mind off of what I was actually going to do when shit hit the fan."

Amelia frowns and brings her knees up closer to her chest, listening intently. Seeing Gilbert act introspective is a bit unnerving, but she wants to hear him out, and he clearly needs someone who will listen.

He takes a sip of the beer he stole from the fridge and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "Look at me. I'm twenty-seven, and I have a job in retail because I don't have a degree that's worth shit. Matt's plowing through law school and soon enough he'll be able to afford to live on his own, and then where am I gonna go? I'll be right here, looking for another roommate. I'll never get out—never get ahead, and to be honest, maybe I deserve being stuck like this."

"Don't say that," Amelia whispers, hating how dry her throat has suddenly become.

"It's true."

"It's not. You still have all the time in the world."

Gilbert scoffs and takes another swig of his beer. "I'm not gonna change. This is how things are supposed to be. I can't handle commitment."

"Don't you want to have a family someday? A wife and kids?"

"Hah! I can't even get along with my younger brother. How am I going to handle a marriage?" Gilbert laughs darkly, one hand scratching at his stomach. "Anyway, I'm telling you this because you're a good kid, and I don't want you to end up like me."

Amelia snaps her head up so quickly she hurts her neck. "Sorry, could you say that again?"

"You're a good kid," Gilbert chuckles. "A brat and a pain in the ass, but a good kid nonetheless."

"Are you sure you're not sick or something?"

"I have been feeling kind of weird."

Amelia purses her lips and presses a hand against Gilbert's forehead. "You don't have a fever, but you're still delirious."

The commercial break ended ten minutes ago, but by this point, they've completely lost interest in the show anyway.

"Matt's really worried about you," Gilbert says after a bated breath, eyes focused on the ceiling.

"I know."

"Should he be?"

"Maybe."

Gilbert nods. "Matt's too nice to take care of certain types of business. I, on the other hand, have no morals. If you need me to rearrange someone's nose, I can do it, and Matt will never have to know."

It's touching, so much so that Amelia has to repeat the words in her head twice before she can render them as true. "Thanks for the offer. I'll keep that in mind."

"Oh, and just so you know, everyone uses the 'I fell in gym class' excuse," he adds.

"But I really did fall in gym."

Gilbert gives her a piercing look and cocks his head to the side. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time. You can convince Mattie you're okay, but I'm not as naïve."

She can't find anything to say after that.

* * *

"Rumor has it you have a secret admirer."

"Who would suggest such a thing?"

"I don't know, you tell me," Amelia laughs, biting her tongue. "Is it or is it not true that the geology teacher from room 206 asked you for some 'information' regarding a 'student'?"

Arthur chokes on his tea and has to take a moment to clear his throat, face flushed. "I _beg_ your pardon? This isn't a soap opera, Amelia. This is a professional workplace environment, and I for one, will not stand for this blatant matchmaking you seem to be so keen to continue."

"I asked her about the incident. She said you were 'quite the gentleman'. Isn't that great?"

"This is going to stop once and for all. I can assure you there is nothing going on between myself and any of the other faculty members."

"I don't know why you get nervous whenever we talk about it, but I'm going to get to the bottom of it. You're hiding something, Artie," Amelia insists, popping a lemon candy into her mouth. "You can hide, but you can't run—you're too old."

"I am _not_ old."

"Maybe not super old, but old enough to have passed your prime. When was the last time you did something fun? Have you ever done anything besides yell at students?"

Arthur grits his teeth and pretends to be preoccupied with something on the monitor of his computer. "To whom it may concern, I've had plenty of fun in my life. My dear, you wouldn't believe what things were like back in my day."

"Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth?"

"Haha," Arthur snarls, steeping a teabag in his thermos. "I went to the discotheque every—"

"Oh, my god. Please stop. I don't want to know where this is going or what your definition of partying is."

"The youth of today doesn't know how to party," Arthur mutters under his breath, but lets the subject drop. He seizes the chance to redirect the conversation back toward Amelia. "How does your ankle feel?"

"A lot better, thanks."

"Are there any other injuries you've had that I should know about?"

"I'm fine. Stop fretting already."

Arthur clicks his tongue and folds his hands, not quite giving up with the interrogation just yet. "I've taken the liberty of reporting the locker incident for you."

"You didn't have to," Amelia protests, wishing the man would let her handle this on her own terms.

"Yes, I did. If something like that happens again, or you come into this office with another mysterious injury, this is going to become a matter that the principal will have to hear about, as well as a number of disciplinary officials within the school," Arthur warns, firm. "Tell me the truth, Amelia. Are you being harassed?"

She looks up and into his eyes, and they are so sincere and full of worry that a wave of guilt-induced nausea roils out of her stomach as she says, "No."

She has lied many times in her life, so why does it hurt so much to lie to Arthur?

He seems disappointed, but he doesn't press her for further answers. Instead, he dismisses her early and reminds her to pick up her umbrella from behind the door.

It isn't until she's in the hallway that she gets one of many texts that will follow her for the coming weeks. The number, of course, is private and won't come up on her caller ID.

 _You are nobody. How can you live with yourself?_

She laughs it off and stows her phone in her pocket. It's just Natalya trying to get under her skin again, but she won't give her the satisfaction of getting a response out of her. No, she can ride this out. Eventually, it'll all die down, and no one will have to know about what happened. It'll just be another shitty collection of memories from her life.

She has everything under control.


	6. Chapter 6

Kiku is suddenly… different.

At first, Amelia's sure she's just imagining it. After all, Kiku is a fairly introverted and shy guy in general, so it's not out of the norm for him to be a little aloof or quiet. This, combined with the fact she told him to lie low several days ago, means she probably shouldn't take any of his behavior personally, and yet, something about his demeanor remains unsettling.

Her bad vibes are intensified when she approaches him on Friday only to be given the cold shoulder.

She runs into him in the hallway before his physics class, and although he seems hurried, she says, "Hey, sorry for all of the madness lately. Can I make it up to you this weekend?"

He glances toward the other end of the hall and lowers his head, avoiding any eye contact. "I don't think that's a very good idea."

"Why not? If you're worried about Ivan, don't be. He wouldn't try anything outside of school."

"You give him too much credit, then."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Amelia."

And then, without further preamble, he walks off. She considers pursuing him, but it's highly unlikely she'll be able to reason with him if she does, and so, she backs down. Maybe he's having a rough day, and the last thing she wants to do is make him feel even worse. It's hard to know what's going on in that head of his.

And people say women are complicated.

She goes to English class feeling a bit defeated, and while her teacher rambles on about the importance of syntax in writing, she thinks about how she should cut men out of her life from now on. They're all full of trouble. Who needs them? She'll get out of school, adopt a nice dog so she isn't too lonely, and that'll be that.

Her phone seems to agree because as soon as she finishes this thought, it vibrates in her bag, alerting her to the arrival of yet another cryptic text message.

She doesn't bother reading it—doesn't even pick up her phone. Out of sight, out of mind. Natalya will get tired of harassing her eventually, and surely she has better things to do than send her empty threats all day.

The clock ticks along and the bell rings, meaning it's finally Amelia's lunch period and time for another meeting with Arthur. She scoops up her books and rushes into the hallway, eager for one of their illustrious conversations and some lemon candies. She doesn't know why, but Arthur's office seems to have the magical power of blocking out all of the chitter-chatter and bombastic inanity of teenage drama taking place in the rest of the school building. It's the one place of solitude in the noise.

She enters the short corridor leading to Arthur's door and pauses, noticing the office is locked. Inquisitive nature getting the best of her, she tries to look inside with the help of the small window on the door, but the lights inside of the office are out and the blinds have been drawn, leaving the room black and hollow.

Upon further investigation, she notices the sticky note on the bulletin board outside and frowns at the chicken-scratch penmanship that is no doubt Arthur's.

 _Will be back on Monday._

It's the first time something like this has happened, and Amelia isn't sure what to think of it. Arthur's been busy dealing with other students before, and thus, it's not entirely out of the ordinary for their sessions to be cut short, but he's never disappeared without prior notice.

Even though she shouldn't feel hurt, she does, and an ache blossoms in her stomach, sending a cold chill down her spine. Monday is far away, and she has so many words to say and no one to tell them to.

With nowhere else to go, she heads into the cafeteria, one hand squeezing the strap of her bag to vent her frustration and disappointment. She's going to make sure the man makes it up to her when he gets back. She'll eat twice as many lemon candies on Monday, and he'll have to make her a mug of chai tea with two heaping spoonfuls of sugar in it without complaining about how she's going to get diabetes.

"Amelia."

She swallows around the lump in her throat and furrows her brows at the sound of her name. When she turns her head to the left, she sees Ivan sitting at the table they used to sit at when they were still together, and for a moment, she's not sure whether she should be happy or furious. Her feet become cold, but the flock of butterflies in her chest spread their wings and flutter up the length of her arms and neck.

He has a motive. Ivan _always_ has a motive, and despite being fully-aware of this, Amelia walks over to him and sits down because doing so feels so natural, and it's like nothing has changed. Isn't that what she wanted? For them to put this all behind them and move on?

"It's good to see you again," he murmurs with a low, sensual timbre. He looks at her hungrily, one elbow propped up on the table.

Amelia blinks twice and clears her throat, momentarily paralyzed. "Of all the things I expected you to say to me, that wasn't one of them. You've been the one avoiding me since you found a new toy."

"I come in peace," Ivan assures, an effortless grin on his face. "We don't have to be cruel to each other."

"Stop with the innocent act. Did you get tired of that other girl already? It hasn't even been a month."

Ivan folds both of his arms on the table this time and shrugs. "We just wanted to see if things would work out between us."

"And they didn't," Amelia assumes, hating how easy it is to talk to him again. She should be ignoring him. He made it clear how replaceable she was, and now he wants to convince her he's had a change of heart?

"Well, she hasn't cheated on me yet, so that's something," he replies coldly.

"As if you were faithful."

"We've both made mistakes," Ivan admits, deflecting the comment. "I think if we both acknowledge that, we can grow from the experience."

Amelia is tempted to laugh but stops just short of it. The butterflies are still swirling inside of her, but she wishes they would stop. "That wasn't how you felt when you broke up with me."

"We just needed some time apart."

"Yeah, and in that time, you seemed to bounce back pretty fast."

"I told you—we were just having fun. It didn't mean anything."

"You're still with her though, right?"

"We were never really together in the first place."

She knows she shouldn't believe him, so why does she feel an overwhelming need to be held by him again? Maybe because with him, she doesn't have to worry about being ridiculed or being unworthy. He has the spellbinding ability to make her feel like a million stars, and it's not fair how he gets to have that kind of power over her. She doesn't stand a chance against his allure.

"Was it so hard to love me?" he asks, and it's a question Amelia knows all too well.

"You don't understand."

"Then explain it."

"No, I don't have to prove anything to you anymore," she whispers back, shaking. He's playing his mind games again, and she's letting herself get drawn in. She tries to get up and walk away, but her legs are too frozen and weak. "Have you made your point yet?"

"Let's go someplace and talk, Amelia. It isn't right for us to have hard feelings toward each other."

"I don't have any hard feelings. I just want to be left alone," she insists. On her second try, she musters the willpower to stand up, but Ivan grabs her hand and kisses it so gently that she almost starts crying. It's sick. It's wrong. It's everything she doesn't need right now.

"Kitten, you know I don't like seeing you like this."

She closes her eyes and purses her lips. "I'm not—"

"I was out of line. I overreacted. We can still make this work. Wouldn't you like that?"

"I-I don't know."

She didn't expect him to be the one to apologize. She thought that if she just let him go and move on, he wouldn't come back because of the size of his ego, but it looks like she couldn't have been more wrong.

"I miss you," he says, practically purring. "We were meant for each other."

She stares into his eyes and frowns. "What did you say to Kiku?"

"What?"

"Don't play stupid. Not now."

"I didn't tell your _friend_ anything."

"Why don't I believe you? You did something to scare him."

"He wouldn't have to be scared if he didn't have anything to hide," Ivan says with cheer. "You should be careful who you surround yourself with. Not everyone can be trusted."

Amelia pulls her hand away from Ivan as though she has been scalded by boiling water. "No kidding."

That night, they get dinner together.

* * *

"Hey, kid. Matt said to text him if you need something from the grocery store."

"Okay, thanks," Amelia sighs before taking some animal crackers out of the cupboard to munch on.

"What, you're not even going to yell at me for calling you a kid?" Gilbert asks her, offended at not being offended.

"Whatever. Not today, I guess."

"Something happen?"

Amelia smooths out her bangs and tucks them behind her ear with another heavy sigh. "You ever been with someone you shouldn't have been with, but then you can't leave them because they make you feel a kind of way that you wouldn't get with anyone else?"

Gilbert blows out a low whistle and laughs. "You're in a fucked up situation, that's all I'm gonna say."

"I didn't say it was about me. It was a hypothetical question!"

"Sure," Gilbert mumbles, unconvinced. "Well, honestly, I feel like there's always a person out there who can make you feel good _and_ make you feel good about being with them. You don't have to choose one or the other, and you shouldn't."

Amelia nods and leans against the kitchen counter, thinking it over. "Yeah, I guess you have a point."

"So, who's the guy?"

"You know I'm not going to tell you," she says with a smirk, taking the bag of animal crackers with her before leaving the kitchen. "You don't need to be nosy!"

Gilbert huffs from behind her. "I'm not in a relationship right now, so I need to talk about someone else's relationship instead. Also, I don't think Mattie would be happy to hear you have a boyfriend."

"Which is exactly why he doesn't have to know," Amelia explains, smile growing. "You're not going to be a snitch and tell him, are you?"

"No, I have better things to talk about then your teenage flings."

"Good to know."

"But hey, you still have to promise me something, kid."

Amelia rolls her eyes and turns around to look at him. "What is it now?"

"Promise you'll be careful."

She shoots him a funny look, a bit amused by his sudden concern. He's becoming a different person day by day. "Okay… Yeah, sure."

"All right," he grunts before heading toward the couch to watch another German soap opera.

* * *

Things will be okay between her and Ivan, that's what she tells herself. He will take care of her just as he always has. After all, he knows what's best for her, and more often than not, he knows her better than she does, so why not let him make the decisions every now and then?

By Monday it's like they never split up to begin with. They hit the reset button and start all over again, and Amelia has told herself there's nothing wrong with giving themselves a second chance. Maybe this time she'll appreciate Ivan more, and he'll do the same in return.

They hold hands and exchange impromptu kisses mid-conversation, but Amelia has noticed Ivan isn't quite as physically affectionate around her as he used to be. She thinks it's because he doesn't want to get too attached, but that conclusion doesn't seem to sit well with her.

There's a buzz of unease in her heart, but she tries her hardest to cast it aside.

"Want to study for chemistry together during lunch?" Ivan suggests, carrying both of their books as they walk to the stairs.

"I can't. I've got a meeting with Arthur, but I can try to leave early so we can study a little while before class."

Ivan scratches his chin as his eyes grow a shade darker. "How much longer are you going to have to meet with him for?"

"I dunno. Probably until school ends," she replies, pretending she is bothered by the sessions too. "It keeps my brother happy, so I havta keep doing it, y'know?"

"Mmm," Ivan hums, a devious smile rising over his face. "Can't you skip it for a day? We have to make up for lost time."

Amelia lowers her head and feels her stomach become queasy. "I c-can't. He'll find me anyway. You know how he is, and I don't want to give him more of a reason to be upset with me. If I don't show up, he's just going to make the sessions even more tedious."

"Oh, come on, Amelia. Since when do you care what he thinks of you? We'll go to the library—he won't think to look there."

"Ivan, I can't do that."

"Yes, you can, kitten."

He yanks her arm and pulls her down the hallway, nearly dislocating her shoulder and leaving no room for further argument unless Amelia wants to end up in the infirmary. With a conceding sigh, she stops struggling and follows him, hating every inch of herself for letting Ivan keep her away from the one part of her day that has actually been giving her an inkling of hope for her future.

She has to say something. She can't let herself be dragged around like a ragdoll forever. Not this time. If Ivan wants them to be together, he's going to have to start giving her some space too.

"I'm not your dog, Ivan. Stop pulling me."

He seems a little irritated when she says that, but he recovers remarkably well. "Of course, kitten. I'm sorry."

"I don't want to go to the library with you. I want to go to my meeting," she asserts, heart thumping against her ribs in fear of how Ivan will react.

His face and ears turn a tad scarlet as he growls, "I thought I was your boyfriend, not Arthur."

"Don't even joke like that. Just because you're my boyfriend doesn't mean you can keep me away from the people who are trying to help me."

She's shocked by her own courage. Standing up to Ivan is no small feat, and she can't stop herself from shrinking back a bit as he takes a step forward to tower over her. He's intimidating even when he's in a good mood.

"You want to go to your counseling session?"

"Yes," she says, feeling childish.

"Then go."

He releases his grip on her arm, and she rubs the sore skin, unsurprised at the early signs of bruising littering the area. She doesn't know if he's being serious or not, but she doesn't waste any time in finding out. Instead, she spins around and speed-walks toward Arthur's office, the sound of blood rushing through her ears.

She doesn't risk looking back or even glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She'll deal with any of his residual fury later, and by the time she sees him in chemistry class, he'll have been given a chance to calm down.

So, she focuses her attention on getting to Arthur's office as quickly as possible before Ivan changes his mind and does something drastic. When she gets there, she's incredibly relieved, and she collapses into her usual chair in front of Arthur's desk, sagging forward.

"You're late," Arthur immediately reminds her, turning his head toward the clock.

"I know, I'm sorry. I had some stuff to take care of and—wait a second! You can't accuse me of being late after you randomly disappeared on Friday!"

Arthur scans his eyes over her and doesn't smile like he normally does. "I had a conference to go to at the last minute."

"You could've warned me."

"You're trying to change the subject," he points out, narrowing his gaze. "Are you all right?"

Amelia takes a second to get her heart and her breathing under control and nods. "I'm fine."

"I see you're wearing your hair up today."

"Yeah, Ivan likes it when I—" she stops herself and bites down on her tongue, hard.

Arthur did that on purpose, didn't he? He knew she would slip-up. The damn, perceptive bastard.

"Ivan? That wouldn't happen to be the boy you were telling me about before, would it?"

Shit, shit, shit. He _knows_ , and now he's going to make her say it. Well, she doesn't have to answer him if she doesn't want to.

"Amelia?"

He's going to tell her to break up with him, but she can't bear the thought of that, not when he is the only one who can make her feel protected.

"Amelia, I'm worried about you."

She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth and murmurs, "Don't be. It isn't worth it."

"Stop that. Tell me about Ivan."

"There's nothing to say."

"How long are you going to keep this up for?" Arthur asks, downing the rest of the tea in his thermos. "You're only hurting yourself when you hide these matters from everyone."

"I can't tell you because I already know what you're going to say."

Arthur scowls and folds his hands in his lap. "In that case, you know you're doing something you shouldn't be doing and now you feel guilty."

"I don't know what's right or wrong anymore," Amelia groans, snatching two lemon candies off of the desk.

Arthur makes himself look sterner and says, "Put those back. The candy is only for the students who actually heed my advice."

"No fair."

"It's very fair," Arthur counters before staying silent for a while. He waits for Amelia to speak and confess what she's done, and when she doesn't, he prompts her further. "Don't get yourself into any dangerous situations, my dear. I can see you falling back into your old habits already."

"No, I'm not! What do you know anyway? Maybe I was happy with the way I was before, and you don't have any right to tell me I need to change."

"See? You're resorting to aggression again. You weren't happy before. You know that."

"I should've skipped the session. All you ever do is accuse me of making bad choices."

"No, that's not true. I show you how to judge your own decisions."

Amelia screws her eyes closed and rubs a hand over her face. "Whatever. This reverse psychology of yours is probably what's been screwing me up."

"You're projecting onto me now. You're not angry with me; you're angry with yourself."

It's infuriating how good he is at this. That's why he's got that fancy degree on the wall.

"I'm not angry. I did what was right for me, okay? I got back together with Ivan because he's the one who—"

"Who pressures you into doing things you don't want to do? Who teaches you how to deal with things through violence and anger? You told me you hated him. How could being with him possibly be a good idea?" Arthur presses her, calm despite his strong questioning.

"I'm _somebody_ when I'm with him, okay?"

"No, you're not. You're what he wants you to be. You're not yourself."

"He keeps me in line. I need someone to tell me what to do."

Arthur scoffs. "He shouldn't be that someone."

"You don't know what he's like. You don't know him like I do."

"I know that based on the information you've given me, he isn't being a positive influence on your life at the moment."

The bell rings.

She gets up, lugs her bag over her shoulder, pushes her hair back, and walks out of the office. Arthur calls after her to stay, but she's already made her choice.

And he's not going to change her mind.

Her phone buzzes again. This time, she reads the text.

 _"Whose side are you on?"_


	7. Chapter 7

From what Amelia remembers, her mother was a pretty woman—pretty in the sense that she was always well-put together without having to put much effort into her appearance. She took pride in simplicity, and she never had anyone to impress. She knew herself inside and out, and for a long while, she was happy. Her fatal flaw, however, was the way in which she wore her heart shamelessly on her sleeve.

Her mother loved madly and with an insatiable passion. She would give anything for a fairytale romance, and because she loved with such strength and unconditional fervor, she easily became blind to her partner's shortcomings. In her mind, her husband could do no wrong. If he pulled her by the hair and called her a stupid wretch for losing her job at the office, it was because she deserved it. If he told her that her girlfriends down at the nail salon were trying to sabotage their marriage by telling her she could do better, she would believe him.

Around Amelia's fifth birthday, her mother began to fall into intermittent bouts of depression. There were financial troubles, and Amelia remembers the great and many arguments between her parents on late, starless nights. She would hide away in Matthew's room and when the shouts vibrating from down the hall would finally cease, she would go out and find her mother in the kitchen, where she would have a glass of cheap wine in her hand and a cigarette poking out from between her pale, white lips.

"I'm sorry, honey. We got a little carried away again," she would lament, beckoning Amelia to come over and sit in her lap. "Sometimes mommies and daddies don't see eye to eye. It's a terrible thing."

Amelia would stay there on her mother's quivering legs until it was time for bed, and then Mom would dust a kiss over her ticklish brow and bring her back to her bedroom.

"It's all fine, Melia. These things happen to all of us at one point or another."

As Amelia grew older, her mother's psyche continued to deteriorate, and her father's only way of getting through to her was through either verbal or physical abuse. On most days, Amelia wasn't sure which was worse.

"You're such a lovely thing, my sweetheart," her mother once told her on one of her better days. "I often wonder how a reckless and foolish old woman like me was ever capable of creating something so perfect."

And one day, during a hot summer before the start of the sixth grade, she found her mother in the bathroom, cries of agony rolling out of her throat as her body became slack and her bottle of sleeping pills bounced against the cold, tiled floor. Amelia remembers screaming as her father called 911, and Matthew held her on the way to the hospital—cradled her as she fell asleep in a chair outside of the nurses' station. She hoped she would never have to wake up again. She hoped she would go with her mother.

She was a trouble-maker even then. She seldom did her homework, but her test scores were rather exceptional. Her teachers were convinced she was a bright child who simply required a firm hand to discipline her, which is exactly what her father attempted to do for the many years during which they lived under the same roof.

Because of her tendency to misbehave, a few students in her middle school class began to declare that her mother did what she did because she couldn't tame her rebellious daughter. Somehow, the rumor stuck, and even now, on some days, Amelia wonders if it isn't rooted in some truth. Of course her father holds some of the blame for the life her mother had to suffer through, but maybe she didn't help matters. Maybe if she had been kinder to her mother, things could have ended differently. Maybe if she hadn't despised her so much for marrying a pig, she could have forgiven her—told her there could still be a better future waiting out there for them if they went looking for it.

Now she knows what it's like to seek safety in someone else. She knows what it's like to hold onto someone just because you don't want to feel the sting of loss and disappointment again. She, too, has found comfort in the familiar demons of her life. Why move on to someone else and risk being hurt again? It's better to be hurt by someone who you expect will raise a fist at you than to be surprised by someone you trusted.

She knows the loneliness her mother must have felt. She knows the fear of being alone. She knows what it's like to love someone because you don't think you'll be loved by anyone else. She has been with boys just to feel whole—just to know she is visible to the world and still capable of feeling something other than contempt. She, too, loves dangerously and leans too far over the edge.

* * *

Ivan takes her to a party over the weekend.

Vash's parents are out of town, and his little sister is sleeping over at a friend's place, leaving him alone in his parent's beautiful brownstone that they purchased with the fortune they inherited from a long-running family business of selling high-end watches and handbags.

There are people drinking as some postmodern rock n' roll drums away in the background, but no one looks like they're having a profoundly fun time. In fact, there's a girl with jet-black hair from her trig class throwing up into a plastic bin, and the entire first floor is dank with the overbearing scent of something Amelia doesn't quite recognize but doesn't plan on trying.

Ivan and Amelia raise a few brows when they are seen together, but Amelia ignores the dark, clouded stares and follows Ivan to a couch pressed against the wall.

"How long do we have to stay here?" she asks, tensing her arms when Ivan coils himself around her waist with a carefree gaze.

"Until we get bored," he mumbles.

"I'm already bored."

"Relax. You're complaining too much."

The girl in her trig class has started a bout of hysteric sobbing, and Amelia cranes her neck around to look at her.

"Is she okay?"

"Probably fine. Just had too much to drink," Ivan whispers, stamping a kiss on the skin below her left ear.

"Is she alone?"

"I'm sure she came with someone."

"We should ask her if she needs help."

"What is wrong with you today?" Ivan grumbles, tracing a hand over her stomach.

"What's wrong with _me_?"

The girl looks miserable, and she can barely stand on her own feet. It's as though she's never been asked to walk before.

"I'm gonna go up to her," Amelia decides, swatting Ivan's hands off of her.

"Are you crazy?"

"Yes… If I were her, I'd want someone to help me."

She pushes herself off the couch and sweeps over to the girl whose name she doesn't recall, dodging a minefield of empty plastic cups, abandoned stilettos, and glass bottles in the process. When she reaches her, she grabs her by the shoulder and steadies her, looking into the girl's listless face and far-gone eyes.

She shakes her shoulder and asks, "Are you okay?"

The girl mutters something incomprehensible and almost falls forward, but Amelia catches her and tries to talk to her again. "Do you have anyone who could take you home?"

She doesn't give a coherent response, and so, Amelia lifts one of the girl's arms and rests it across her own shoulders to help the girl carry her weight. She's not sure how much she's had to drink, and thus, the situation may or may not be as serious as it seems. Still, Amelia doesn't want to take any chances. She takes out her cellphone and dials a number into it before she can second guess herself.

The line rings for a while, but there's an answer at last, and she is immensely grateful.

"Hey, why are you calling me in the middle of a _Seinfeld_ marathon?"

"Gilbert, I have a problem."

"A problem? If you need me to go to the pharmacy to buy tampons for you again I—"

"Not that kind of problem," she hisses, exasperated. "Can you come and pick me up?"

"What happened?"

"I'll explain when you get here. Just hurry."

She gives him the address of the house and sits the girl from her trig class on a footstool as they wait. When Ivan notices she isn't returning, he comes up to her, and she explains the situation.

"I have to get her out of here."

"You're overreacting," Ivan insists, clearly annoyed.

"You can stay here if you want, but I've had enough."

An angry sneer crosses Ivan's face, and he storms off to find Vash. Amelia realizes she doesn't really care what he does at the moment—there are more pressing matters on her mind.

Gilbert arrives in his banged-up Ford about fifteen minutes later, and she guides the girl outside when she hears him honk, taking slow steps to make sure the girl can keep up.

Gilbert jumps out of the car when he sees them and cries, "Who's this?"

"Someone from school. We need to get her to a hospital," Amelia orders, feeling a bit panicked as the girl in her grasp grows less and less responsive.

"Stupid kids," Gilbert snarls but helps Amelia get the girl into the backseat.

Soon, they're on route to the hospital, and Amelia meets Gilbert's eyes through the rearview mirror and smiles softly. "Thanks, Gil."

" _Ja_ , _ja_ , just don't tell Mattie I'm doing this for you. If he hears you were at this party…"

"I know. It'll be a secret."

Gilbert smacks his lips and swears. "I'm already holding too many of your secrets, kid."

* * *

Acute alcohol poisoning. Had they brought her in any later or allowed her to sleep off her stupor, she would either have died from dehydration or choked on her own vomit.

The medical personnel put her on an IV drip and say they'll monitor her until she's stable enough to be released, and for reasons Amelia can't describe, her blood grows cold at the news, and she starts trembling so hard that Gilbert has to hold onto her as they walk back to his car.

"You did a smart thing," he tells her.

"Can't I stay a little longer, just to make sure everything's okay?"

"Visiting hours are over, and they're keeping her overnight. You should go home and sleep."

"That could have easily been me," she rasps, woozy as she works her way into the passenger's side. Her fingers fumble for her seatbelt as Gilbert gets behind the wheel, and her ears ring when the low rumble of the engine stutters to life.

"Let's be glad it wasn't," Gilbert says, avoiding her gaze. He pushes the power button on the radio and settles into the tense air, knuckles still white with anxiety. "This is serious, kid. I mean, I partied when I was in high school too, so I don't want to sound like a preacher here, but if something even close to this happens again, I'll convince Matt to keep you locked in your room until you're forty. Kids your age can't be trusted. If you didn't help that girl tonight… I don't wanna even think about it. Not everyone is as helpful as you are. They might've—crap—this is why I'm never gonna let myself have kids of my own, especially not a daughter. I dunno how to lecture you, so can you just pretend I said something really gushy and heartfelt so you won't get yourself in another shitfest like this again?"

"Aww, Gil… This is the first time I've seen you empathize with someone other than yourself."

" _Ja_ , well, don't get used to it."

"Okay, no more scares," Amelia appeases him, finally managing to steady her voice. "And, for the record, I think you'd make a cool dad someday."

Gilbert gags. "Ugh, don't get all sentimental on me now."

"All right, fine. You know, for a minute there, I thought we might have a nice moment together, but I guess I got my hopes up too early."

"I don't do nice moments," Gilbert growls, but there's a hint of a smile on his face.

* * *

Ivan's in a bad mood, which isn't entirely unexpected considering the circumstances, but Amelia was hoping he'd be sympathetic toward her reason for ditching him at the party.

Of course, she hadn't made matters simpler for herself when she responded to one of his texts with "everything isn't always about you," but what else was she supposed to say when he's clearly in the wrong?

She doesn't speak to him for the remainder of the weekend, and when Monday morning comes creeping up on her and tries to rouse her for another dreary week, she decides it's a good time to take a mental health day and fake being sick.

Matthew, being the sweet, caring-to-a-fault person that he is, doesn't even consider the possibility he's being duped when he finds Amelia curled up in a ball under the covers of her bed, mopey and unwilling to budge.

"Hey, sis, what's wrong?"

"Throat hurts," she croaks, doing her best to sound hoarse and miserable. It sounds convincing to her, and she wonders if acting is her true calling.

She almost feels guilty when she sees Matthew draw his brows together as he gives her a pitying frown and tuts with sincere concern. His hand comes up to graze her forehead, and he says, "I think you've got a fever. Stay in bed, and I'll bring some tea, cough drops, and the thermometer."

She'd had the forethought to wrap a hot towel around her head no more than twenty minutes ago—careful to make herself seem warm but not hot enough to render the need for any serious medical attention.

When Matthew returns, he drops the aforementioned items on the nightstand and declares, "I want you to stay home today."

Amelia has to hide her triumphant smile in her pillow. "Okay."

"Gil will be here today, so he can watch you."

It would have been preferable to not have any company at all, but Amelia supposes this is still a victory. She can get Gilbert to hold his tongue and look the other way again.

Matthew leaves for work, and as soon as he's out the door, Gilbert makes an appearance in order to judge the matter for himself.

"Hah," he scoffs. "Sick? You don't look sick to me."

"I'm mentally sick."

"Well, we know _that_ ," he teases. "Still shaken up over what happened at the party?"

"Maybe," Amelia hesitates.

"Did you find out how everything turned out?"

"I heard from a mutual friend that she's fine."

"Good… Well, I guess I'll let you sleep off your 'sickness' then. You'd better miraculously recover by tomorrow, or I might just let Mattie know what's going on. I can't have you thinking I'm some kind of pushover. I've got to set some ground rules."

"Don't worry, I know you can be tough, Gil," she reassures dryly.

" _Ja_ , I sure can be, huh? Be afraid!"

"I'm already trembling."

* * *

"Oh, well look who it is."

"Your favorite person in the world," Amelia quips, begrudgingly falling into good, ol' Mr. Chair. "I know you've missed me. I was really sick and all that gross stuff, so I'll spare you the details but—"

Arthur raises a critical brow at her and crosses his arms, even grumpier than he is normally, which shouldn't even be possible. "You've missed two sessions."

"Yeah, I had some kind of bug. It's going aroun—"

"That explains why you missed Monday's session, but you were in school on Wednesday, and yet, I still didn't see you in this office. I have your attendance record in your online file, my dear. Now, why don't I give you a moment to come up with a more plausible excuse?"

Ugh, she can't hide anything from him anymore, can she? He's too damn nosy. Any other counselor wouldn't have gone to such great lengths to follow-up on that. It's both touching to know that he cares and absolutely infuriating at the same time.

She doesn't say anything. Instead, she waits for Arthur to talk because she's sure he's already got a lecture up his sleeve, or he's going to ask her questions until he somehow gets the truth out of her.

He seems to go for the latter approach.

"In any case, are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, much better. Thanks for asking."

"Was it a cold?"

Amelia purses her lips and thinks through every word before she says it. "No, it was some kind of stomach thing."

"That's not what Matthew told me."

Why this man chose to be a counselor and deal with ungrateful teenagers all day is beyond her. He should be a lawyer or a detective with these interrogation skills.

"Well, Matt must've been confused."

Arthur sighs and slumps his shoulders in a rare show of defeat. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I'm sorry."

"You say that, but we both know you don't mean it. If you meant it, you wouldn't keep doing this."

She flinches. "That's—"

Her phone rings with the notification of yet another text, and this time, she opens it right in front of Arthur, eager for any distraction that could bring an end to their conversation.

 _Why don't you just sleep with the guidance counselor already?_

"What the hell is this shit? Disgusting!"

How would Natalya know she's been having guidance sessions? Did Ivan tell her? Is she being a creepy stalker and watching her every move?

Arthur narrows his eyes and looks at her with an almost piercing gaze. He is reaching inhuman levels of grumpiness. "What in the world is going on? I'm going ask you this once again… Are you in any trouble, Amelia?"

"It's _nothing_ ," she whispers.

She sees the worry on his face, and it's like someone has dropped a bag of stones on her chest, crushing her beneath dead-weight. For a brief second, she almost considers telling him, but then she bites her tongue hard and shakes her head. What would he be able to do about it anyway? This is her battle to fight.

Another text.

 _I never liked you. Who would?_

Then another.

 _Stay away from me. You just want to smear my reputation too, don't you?_

And finally, the last one.

 _Love, Kiku._

The hand holding her phone turns numb, and she looks up into Arthur's startled semi-glare slowly, devoid of anything and everything.

"Amelia?"

"E-Excuse me. I have to go."

"Go? Go where? Amelia!"

"This is just too much…"

Arthur gets up from his swivel chair and reaches out a hand to catch her shoulder, but she's already out the door and has broken into a full-sprint down the hallway.

She knows exactly who she's after.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Hello, everyone! Here's another chapter! I'm finally on spring break, so hopefully I can get a little extra writing done this week. Enjoy!

* * *

She can feel the weight of everyone's eyes upon her as she barrels into the student government lounge—one of Natalya's favorite hiding spots. In one, unforgiving burst of strength, she yanks the girl's chair away from the conference table with a screech, wood scraping across the tiled floor. Her own forcefulness manages to frighten her, and she falters for a moment, uncertain.

"You think you're funny?"

Caught off guard, Natalya gasps sharply and grips the edge of her seat, fearing being toppled over. She carefully cranes her neck around to look at Amelia, disgust already making itself apparent in her eyes, and says, "What the hell are you even talking about, psycho?"

"Don't act so innocent. It's one thing to insult me to my face and vandalize my crap, but then you had to pretend to be Kiku and send me threatening messages? That's a new low, even for you," Amelia hisses, circling around to stand in front of Natalya. It feels good to have her cornered like this—to finally be able to get some vengeance for all of the anguish that's been levelled against her lately. "You're _sick_ , and I'm going to go to the police with this because I'm tired of your bullshit."

Natalya scowls and tenses, completely unmoving. "I didn't do anything."

"Liar."

"Where's your proof then?"

"Proof?" Amelia huffs, crossing her arms. That's the problem, she doesn't have any hard proof, and even though it's essentially her word against Natalya's, who else would be insane enough to torment her like this? Clearly she's the culprit. "I have all of the proof I need."

"It wasn't me," Natalya says slowly, emphasizing each word.

Overwrought with anger at not getting the answer she wants, Amelia manhandles Natalya's chair again and sends her crashing to the ground. Then, she hovers over her, seeing red and wanting nothing more than to kick her while she's down because she _deserves_ it. This girl has been the bane of her existence for months—has ridiculed her, has torn apart her relationship with Ivan, has filled her with lust and anger, and has kept her from being happy. She is a monster. She is everything Amelia hates and more. She is the cause of all of her despair.

Except… She isn't.

She looks down into Natalya's terrified face and her curled up figure trembling against the floor and thinks of her mother—how she must have felt whenever her father threw her to the ground, spat in her face, and told her she was worthless. And suddenly, guilt creeps into every part of her, and she softens considerably because she knows Natalya is telling the truth. She wasn't the one sending the text messages.

With a sickening realization, she knows has been using Natalya as a scapegoat for her own inner turmoil. Her worst fear as come true; she is turning into her father. She has let her rage blind her.

Natalya may not be the most likeable person in the world, but that doesn't mean she should be treating her with such hatred, no matter what she's done in the past. In trying to make things right again, she's ended up with blood on her own hands.

"Amelia, what are you doing?"

She raises her eyes and finds Arthur standing in the doorway. He's both disappointed and stern, and Amelia can't blame him. She's been jumping into a lot of situations lately without thinking about the depth of her choices.

"It was a misunderstanding," she tries to explain, angry with herself for being so rash. Even she's curious as to how she's going to talk her way out of this. "I know that's not an excuse, and I should know better, so go ahead and yell at me or whatever. I messed up."

Arthur offers a hand to Natalya and helps her up, beside himself with frustration. "Both of you are to go to the principal's office at once."

It's a fair order, but Amelia feels a little betrayed and hurt by Arthur nonetheless. He knows how much she hates having to deal with the administration in this damned school. "Can't we talk this out?"

Arthur directs a dark look at her that makes her blood cold, so she sighs and says, "All right, all right. Don't look at me like that. I'm going…"

It feels incredibly strange for the three of them to be walking together. Everything has come into a full circle, she supposes. Here she is, walking side-by-side with both her ally and her enemy. It's an unusual gathering, to be sure.

She has gotten so used to having Arthur treat her kindly and with his grumpy form of fondness that seeing him upset and severely disappointed is almost physically painful. He thinks less of her now, surely. For reasons she doesn't quite yet understand, she holds Arthur's opinion of her in high regard, even though she'll never admit it to him. The last thing he needs is another reason to inflate his ego.

They walk into Mr. Oxenstierna's office and are greeted by his secretary, who assures them that Mr. Oxenstierna will be available in just a moment, and that they should sit tight and feel free to have some of the coffee in the coffee machine. Under normal circumstances, Amelia gladly would've poured herself a cup, but given the intense heaviness of the atmosphere at the moment and the churning, somewhat queasy, sensation in her stomach, she declines.

The principal appears several minutes later, and Arthur briefly summarizes the events that he witnessed, being careful not to take any sides or make any assumptions.

Mr. Oxenstierna blinks owlishly at them from behind his metal-rimmed glasses and says, "I'd like to speak with you two girls individually first. Ms. Arlovskaya, please come with me."

Natalya complies and goes off with the man, leaving Amelia to sit with Arthur in the waiting area.

"I'm sorry," Amelia blurts as soon as the other two are out of earshot. She wants to add more to her defense, but there's not much else she can say. Besides, it's impossible to sugarcoat anything around Arthur anymore—he always knows when she's fibbing.

Arthur purses his lips and rubs the palms of his hands over his trousers to compose himself. "I thought we had agreed that you would stop getting into trouble like this. Furthermore, I don't appreciate being lied to. You told me everything was fine when it clearly wasn't, and I want a full explanation. If you won't talk to me, then perhaps you'll talk to the principal."

"That's not—I don't want to talk to him. You're the one I trust with my gossip," she jokes half-heartedly, a nervous laugh escaping her. "It's complicated teen drama, and I didn't think it was worth bothering you over."

"You know I would never be bothered by it, nor would I trivialize the matter, so what's the real reason you've been keeping secrets from me?"

Amelia shrugs her shoulders and looks at her lap. "I thought I could handle it by myself. Besides, I didn't want to implicate anyone. If I went around snitching on everyone, I'd be even more of a social outcast than I already am."

"I thought you didn't care what other people think of you?" Arthur asks with raised brows. Again, it seems that he knows more than he's letting on—like he's been waiting for the floodgates to open for a long time—and Amelia can't stand it whenever he's two steps ahead of her. "Could it be true that the notoriously apathetic Amelia Jones actually worries about her self-image just like every other adolescent on this planet?" he teases airily, notably less gruff.

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in all you want. So maybe I care a little bit, but not much. Are you still mad at me?"

Arthur clicks his tongue and folds his arms, looking precisely like a father chastising his child. "I expected more from you. If you show Principal Oxenstierna that you're genuinely remorseful, maybe he'll abstain from expelling you yet again."

"Don't worry, I'll be convincing. I'll start crying, and he won't have the heart to get rid of me then."

"And _if_ he decides to forgive and forget, then I'll want you to tell me exactly what led you to assault that poor girl."

Amelia scoffs. "It _wasn't_ assault. And you say I'm the dramatic one."

"Let's just say you should be more mindful of the thin ice you often tread… It looks like they're finishing up in there. Don't say anything that might get you into even more trouble."

Amelia stands upright and looks down at Arthur with angelic eyes. "And when have I ever done that?"

* * *

"So, I heard you and Natalya were having some problems again," Ivan casually remarks the following day as they're walking to their lunch table. "I thought you said you were going to try to be nice to her."

"I don't want to talk about it. It was a mistake, and I really am sorry. Even the principal was nice about it."

"You're _apologizing_? Do you feel okay?"

"Shut up. I'm trying to have a moment of reconciliation here," Amelia mutters, one arm locked around Ivan's. "I just want to start over—have a clean slate, you know?"

"Fair enough," Ivan agrees, looking away. "I just wish we could have started over without your favorite guidance counselor getting involved."

Oh, god. What did he do this time?

"What do you mean by 'getting involved'?"

"He made me come to his office afterschool."

She groans in disbelief and feels her face heat up. "He _didn't_. What did he say?"

"Something about how you're going through a hard time right now, and that you need supportive friends by your side."

"He's getting all preachy again. I wouldn't worry about it," she assures him, even though her own nerves are shot, and she's pretty sure Ivan can feel her shaking.

"How much did you tell him?"

She opens her mouth with a finely-sewn lie already on her tongue, but then a head of black hair catches her attention, and she jerks her neck around to look at Kiku, who's sitting with his usual crew of computer science friends in the corner. For a split second, their eyes meet, and a rock lodges itself into Amelia's throat because of the penitent glimmer in his pupils. He looks guilty, and Amelia prays godless prayers that he hasn't done what she thinks he has.

She wants to go up to talk to him, but Ivan takes the opportunity to kiss her soundly on the lips, craving to be the center of her world. It's forced and tense, and Amelia doesn't enjoy it whatsoever, especially since there are dozens of people casting wary glances over at them, but Ivan doesn't relent—hungry, lustful, and wanted to fully claim her as his own. He is putting her on display on purpose.

That's just the way Ivan operates. If he can't have her, then no one can, but if he _can_ have her, then let the whole city know that she's his. Let them look on in contempt. Let them know they will never be able to touch the same lips he's touching.

"Ivan, not now."

"Why not?"

"It's a bad time."

He lets his warm breath brush against her ear and mumbles, "Still pining over Kiku?"

So, he's testing her. He's waiting to see if she'll go after him or not, and if she does, he won't hesitate to retaliate. Even now, he's trying to get real affection and tenderness out of her, but Amelia won't allow herself to be fooled like that. She won't love him the way he wants her to because if she does, he'll have insurmountable power over her. The moment she lets herself be truly drawn in by him, he will have the upper-hand, and he will not love her back like she will. Ivan doesn't love. He catches it and steals it for himself without ever giving it back.

"You're the one I love," she whispers, voice breaking. It's easy to know what he wants to hear. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good. Let's find Vash and the others."

She bows her head and lets herself be led down the row of tables, pretending not to see Kiku's piercing stare trailing after her.

* * *

The large, green box wrapped in ribbon and topped with a blue bow feels unbelievably heavy in her hands as she walks into Arthur's office, heart beating at the speed of a hummingbird flapping its wings. She doesn't know how he'll react to her snooping. Maybe he doesn't like to make celebrations out of days like these. Or maybe he doesn't want to be reminded of how much older he's getting each day.

Maybe he'll be really angry and kick her out of the office once and for all.

Carefully, she pushes open the door to Arthur's office and peeks her head in, a gentle smile on her face. He doesn't look like he's bitter today, but he doesn't seem very happy either, as is usually the case.

"Come in," he says in the same tone he always does without looking away from his computer. He takes a sip of his tea and finishes composing an email before he finally gives Amelia his full attention. "How are you to—?

"Happy birthday!" Amelia shouts quite loudly, followed by a timid laugh. She holds out the green box to him and puts it on his desk, still smiling. "I hope you like it!"

Astounded, Arthur gawks at her for a long minute before clearing his throat and murmuring, "How did you know?"

"I can't reveal my sources, but let's just say someone in the math department let the detail slip."

"You shouldn't have…"

"Stop talking and open it already!"

Tentatively, Arthur undoes the ribbon and lifts the cover of the box, taking a peek inside. "Oh, Amelia," he laughs warmly before pulling out a tie and a tin box of his favorite brand of tea. "This is very kind of you. Thank you."

"Do you like the tie? I wasn't sure if you'd like the color—I mean, I've never seen you wear that shade of blue before. It's viridian, I think," she explains, a little self-conscious all of a sudden.

"It's lovely."

She brightens her smile and sighs with relief. "Okay, awesome. I'm glad. So, how has your birthday been so far?"

"Remarkably ordinary, which is just how I want it to be," Arthur replies, taking off his current tie so as to try on the new one.

"You should do something crazy for once. Get a bunch of the deans together and go drinking or something. Live it up! Who knows how many more birthdays you'll get to have?"

"While I appreciate the concern, I think I'll be all right."

A flutter of joy hops in her chest when Arthur puts the tie on. It looks good on him—simple and classy. The color really does suit him.

"How do I look?"

"Great! Now we just need to find you a date."

For some reason, that statement makes Arthur fidget in his seat, and his cheeks become incredibly pink. "That reminds me… I'm seeing someone at the moment."

Amelia's jaw drops open, and she jumps out of her chair, knocking it back by a foot or so. She raises her hands over her head and makes a squealing noise in the back of her throat, forgetting how to speak for several seconds. The world must be ending. Arthur is actually dating someone! "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Oh, my god. Who is it?"

He scratches the back of his neck and swallows thickly. "My neighbor."

"The one you were fighting with over Christmas? Francis?"

Reluctantly, Arthur nods.

"OH. MY. GOD," Amelia cries out, unable to control her immense excitement. She bounces about the room, trying to get the jitters out of her legs. "That's so cute! Awww, Artie! I'm so happy for you! This is the best news ever."

The counselor is completely flushed with embarrassment now, looking as though someone painted his face with rouge. "But that's enough of that… Let's discuss something else."

"Wait, just one more thing. Tell Francis he'd better treat you well, or I'll come after him. Nobody breaks my guidance counselor's heart, no matter how charming they are."

Arthur bites back another laugh, and for the first time, Amelia has the privilege of seeing him completely and utterly happy. The creases from his forehead are gone, the bags underneath his eyes have vanished, and he seems to be glowing with solace. "Thank you, dear. I'll be sure to inform him. However, I think it's better if we talk about your relationship at the present moment."

And just like that, he's back to being concerned for her. Amelia feels like a criminal for taking his happiness away from him; she isn't worth ruining one's birthday over.

"I heard you spoke to Ivan," she says.

"Briefly, yes."

She closes her eyes and whispers, "Thanks for looking out for me."

"You could report him," Arthur suggests, serious and stern.

"No, I won't do that… It takes two to have a destructive relationship after all."

"At the very least, you should keep your distance."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm worried about what he might do if—" she stops herself and frowns. "I know you think I sound crazy right now, but he's not a bad guy. Not really, anyway. He's just broken and fucked up like me. I don't want him to get kicked out of school, or have a record, or any of that stuff."

"But he's posing a danger to you."

She shakes her head and smirks. "I can handle him."

"Handle him? The same way you handled whatever grief you had with that girl the other day?"

"That was different."

"How so?" Arthur presses her, but then sighs when she doesn't respond. "Amelia, you can leave him at any time. Of course, you should do so when you're ready, and when you are, please know that no harm will come upon you because of it. I'll make sure of that."

She sits down again, puts her hands in her lap, and nods. "Okay. Thanks."

"Yes, well, you did threaten to deal with Francis, so I suppose I must return the favor," he says with a little smile.

"We'll have each other's backs," she insists before stealing yet another lemon candy off of Arthur's desk. "You know, there's still part two of your gift…"

"Part two?"

She grins and shrugs her shoulders. "There might be something waiting for you in the dean's office. Just sayin'… "

"Oh, no. I hate surprises," Arthur groans, rubbing at his forehead. "All right, then. I guess there's nothing that can be done about it now. Would you care to accompany me there?"

"Yeah, of course!"

She takes a picture of Arthur's face when he sees the ridiculously colorful cake waiting for him on the center-table in the dean's room. The mix of horror, humiliation, and sheepishness on his face is absolutely priceless and more than she could have ever wished for. Then, she bursts into song with the other faculty and watches him begrudgingly blow out the candles as though someone has made him swallow a bottle of gross cough syrup.

She also pretends not to see the murderous glare Arthur sends her from across the room as he's mingling with some of the administrators. As much as he wants her to think otherwise, Amelia knows there's a part of him that's grateful for the effort she's gone through, and she's immeasurably contented to know that she's made his day, despite him wanting to be in solitude. He's not as much of a hermit as he claims to be.

And as he takes a bite of the extra-sweet frosting on his cake, Amelia forgets about Ivan, Natalya, and Kiku, and all of the other drama that, in retrospect, is insignificant. Right now, this impromptu birthday party is all that matters, and it's Arthur's day in the spotlight.

After all the trouble she's put him through, he's earned it. The rest can wait until tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

There are nights when Amelia can't sleep—can't rid herself of the clutter passing from one fold of her brain to the other. She thinks about Mom. By now, it's almost mechanical. Every time she closes her eyes in the quiet passing of the night, she sees her haunting eyes, her slender fingers running through her hair in an attempt to comfort her when she wasn't the one who needed the comforting.

"I wish you would smile more," her mother would say, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

And when it's not Mom who's keeping her up, it's Dad. She thinks of how inescapable he is. His chromosomes are running loose in her body, and there's nothing she can do about it. She can't stop the fact that she waves her arms around when she's angry like he did. She can't stare at herself in the mirror for too long lest she be reminded of how she has his nose and cheekbones. This _monster_ is embedded in everything she does.

Then there's Matthew. He didn't deserve any of this, but then again, neither did she. At times, she inwardly berates him for not doing more to keep things together. Why didn't he stand up to Dad when he had the chance? Why didn't he reach out to Mom when she needed the support? After all, being quite a few years older than Amelia, he should've taken the responsibility upon himself.

But lately she's been discovering that she's been hypercritical of him. It's not easy to fight back and say something, and it's even less easy to get a stoic person to spill their emotional baggage onto you. She expects too much of him, and maybe that's because he's always risen to the occasion during all other instances when it mattered most.

She's been so frustrated with the past that she got stuck in it.

The clock reads, "3:22 A.M," and although she feels the persistent tug of sleep crawling over to her, every time she thinks she's going to nod off, she snaps awake again and ends up in a restless bout of tossing, turning, and more tossing. It makes her wonder exactly when she started being followed by her demons. Counting sheep doesn't work. She's gone to the bathroom twice just for the sake of getting up and moving her twitching legs and toes. Matthew and Gilbert are sound asleep.

Their consciences must be clear.

Her train of thought wanders and takes a new course. Suddenly, she's remembering her first kiss with a boy in the fourth grade. It was only a peck on the lips, and the scandalous activity took place behind the school where none of her curious classmates could see. Her heart soared when it happened, and she's quite sure she's never felt so alive and perfect as she did in that moment. It wasn't the kiss itself that was spectacular; it was the idea of a kiss that mystified her. After all of the movies she'd watched and all of the stories she'd heard about how magical a kiss was supposed to be, she'd finally had a taste of it herself.

It must have lasted no more than two seconds, and yet, Amelia recalls getting extremely flustered, after which the boy followed in suit. A marvelous tingling sensation lingered on her lips afterward, and a peculiar heat rose up from her chest and flooded her cheeks, turning them scarlet.

If she could go back now, she would grab her nine-year-old self by the shoulders and march her away from the boy. There's all the time in the world for love, and there's no need to rush. This is where her intrigue with boys began, and maybe if she'd kept her first kiss for a later date, she could've saved herself some trouble in the long run.

"4:03 A.M," the clock mocks, staring back at her innocently.

She'd tried to fit in once. In the eighth grade, she toyed with cosmetics and found a fascination for a shimmery shade of blue eyeshadow, which she wore proudly to class. The other girls, however, weren't impressed. In fact, they teased her for looking old and like a clown. Now that she considers it from a new perspective, Amelia figures there was probably some truth in their criticisms, but by then, her mother had been in a coffin for two years, and she didn't have anyone to show her how to properly apply the right type of color for her skin tone.

And as much as she loves Matthew and admires him for his impressive array of knowledge, he doesn't have the slightest clue about how to apply make-up.

The clock flickers. "4:17 A.M."

Next thought: maybe she'll be able to mend Ivan. All this time, he's been as splintered and convoluted as her, and who would be better to help him than someone who's been in his shoes? They've both hurt a lot of people, including each other, but he's been decent to her as of late and that could be a sign of improvement.

That is, if he wants to be mended. Somehow, she doubts he'll do so willingly. What if she enlisted Arthur to talk to him or one of the other counselors? Is it a silly idea? It probably wouldn't even help. Ivan is the least expressive person she's ever met, and he'd most likely rather die than admit he has a problem with manipulating himself and other people.

No matter how hard she tries not to, she still has sympathy for him—something akin to compassion, even. It's a disturbing phenomenon.

School starts in less than four hours. How is she going to drag herself to class in such a sleep deprived state? It wouldn't be the first time, but still… She could always fake sick again, but Matthew wouldn't fall for it again so soon. There needs to be at least a three or four week cool down period between the days she ditches. Plus, Arthur would start interrogating her about her attendance again and… and…

Sleep yanks her down into the darkness.

* * *

"Rough night?" Arthur asks as she staggers into his office later the next day, eyes half-shut in exhaustion.

Amelia covers a huge yawn with the back of her hand and sits down, ungracefully tossing her backpack beside Mr. Chair. "You could say that. I dunno, I couldn't fall asleep."

"Hmm, what's been bothering you enough to give you insomnia?"

She shrugs and yawns again, sucking in a breath. "Oh, you know me… I've been plotting a new way to get suspended," she jokes with a sleepy wink.

"Are you ready yet?"

"Ready for—? _Oh_ … No. I'm not subjecting anyone to juvy yet."

Arthur sighs and crosses his arms on his desk. "No one is going to go to juvy."

"You don't know that for sure," she smirks. "Can I have some tea? I'm dying for some caffeine."

Arthur blinks at her, massages the spot between his fuzzy brows and stands up to turn on the electric kettle. He seems to give up on urging her to talk about Ivan for now, and she's glad he does. "All right. What kind?"

"What's on the menu?"

"I have Earl Grey, English breakfast, orange spice, orange peel, spearmint, chamomile, raspberry, peach, lemon and ginseng, chai—"

"Okay, whoa. You have a serious addiction, but I'll take the English breakfast."

Arthur takes one of the spare mugs from the small collection he has on the counter behind his desk, throws the teabag inside, and waits for the water to heat up. They talk mindlessly for a few minutes until it is finished brewing.

"Sugar or honey?"

"Honey, please."

She watches Arthur sweeten the tea and stir it with a spoon, and when the honey has dissolved, he places the mug before her. He could very well start his own tea shop from this office.

"Be careful. It's hot. I'd wait a little while for it to cool if I were you," he warns.

"It's okay. It wouldn't be the first time I've burned myself," she answers with a short laugh. "How's Francis doing?"

"He's well. An irritating pain in my neck, but well nonetheless."

"That's good to hear. You know, Arthur, I know it sounds super sappy coming from me, but I really _am_ happy for you. I think it's awesome that you've found somebody, and that you're not as much of a grouch all the time now," she remarks with a cheeky smile.

Arthur clears his throat awkwardly and straightens his stance. "I a-appreciate the kind words."

"Yeah, but remember what I said, Francis is cool and all for now, but if he messes with you, he'd better watch his back. Have you told him about me, by any chance? How I'm like your favorite student in the school, and super awesome, _and_ fun to be around? Did you gloat about what a privilege it is for you to be able to speak to the legendary Amelia Jones?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Arthur replies flatly, vastly unamused. "But yes, I've mentioned you and your threats to him. He was quite taken aback. He also knows how much of a menace you are."

"Just as it should be," she snickers, carefully taking a sip of her tea. It's precisely what she needs to get some of her awareness back. "I was starting to think I was getting a reputation for being soft, so it's good to know I'm still able to scare someone off."

Arthur casts her a wary glance and slouches slightly in his chair as though he hasn't been getting much sleep either. "If only you would take a greater interest in your own relationships."

"Can we please not talk about that? I've told you why I can't do that to Ivan. He's not bad, I swear. He just feels like he needs to have power over people all of the time, and that's because he's had a pretty rough childhood. He has his reasons for acting the way he does. He doesn't need to be hurt even more."

She expects Arthur to scoff and call her ridiculous for defending the boy, but, shockingly, he merely rubs his chin and says, "You're a good friend, Amelia. I think you're more empathetic than you believe yourself to be."

"It's not like I have a bleeding heart or anything," Amelia quickly protests, ignoring the way Arthur is smiling at her. It's no use. He knows that she's not as tough as she seems. They're both people with spiky shells and fragile interiors. "I just… I know that everyone has problems they're going through, and I'd be a shitty person for making things harder on them."

"Nonetheless, he needs to face repercussions. I can assure you I don't intend to irreparably smear his school record either. I simply want to make sure he receives the help he clearly needs so he no longer causes you or your classmates any further harm. Amelia, you're hurting him by _not_ reporting the situation. You can ensure he gets treatment," Arthur reasons, making a compelling argument.

"I'll do it. I just need some time, okay? My biggest fear is that he'll do something… drastic. He tends to overreact to things, and if I report him, he could—" she closes her eyes and forces down the worry in her gut. "He could do something he'll regret. He could hurt someone or himself, so I need to be sure the time is right. I know I haven't given you any reason to trust me on this, but I'm still going to ask you to please trust me anyway."

Arthur nods, but he doesn't look satisfied. "Okay. You know the situation best, I suppose."

He believes in her, even now—after all of the chaos they've gone through together because of her recklessness, he's still giving her a chance. This time, she vows not to let him down.

* * *

There's a box on her desk when she gets home.

It's innocent looking enough with its pine wood casing and a purple ribbon wrapped around it. Still, she'd rather know its origins before opening it. Too many crime and thriller movies have taught her not to toy with mysterious packages, and so, she ventures down the hall and knocks on the door to Gilbert's bedroom, hoping to get some information.

Gilbert, of course, is being a lazy lug like usual, and from somewhere beyond the door, Amelia hears him grunt unhappily and mumble, "Go 'way."

"What's with the potential bomb on my desk?" she asks him, raising her voice to make sure he can hear her. Knowing him, he's got a pair of headphones on and is half-deaf. "Or is it anthrax?"

It takes him a few seconds to respond, but thankfully, she doesn't have to repeat herself. "Matthew said to give it to you when he left for work this morning. You were still asleep and he didn't want to go into your room and wake you, so he gave it to me. I forgot to give it to you during breakfast."

"You and your short-term memory loss," Amelia sighs under her breath. She adds a brief "thanks!" and goes back to her room, now determined to see exactly what Matthew left her.

She unties the ribbon and props up the wooden lid, peeking inside with growing astonishment. It's a pristine set of watercolors, pastels, and charcoal pencils, all arranged with great care. For a good moment, she just stares blankly at the items, baffled.

This is the nicest gift she has ever received, and it's from _Matthew_ , of all people. The same Matthew who gets everyone gift cards for Christmas because he can never decide what to buy, and because he's afraid of the crippling disappointment he might feel if just one person isn't completely pleased with their present.

There must be a catch. What has she done lately to deserve such a reward? Any reasonable caretaker would see what a nightmare she is. So, why this? And why now?

She doesn't get her answer until Matthew returns from a long day of work and school. Before he even hangs up his coat, Amelia is upon him, openly revealing how happy she is to see him. Her excited smile somehow manages to wipe the weariness from his eyes, and within a minute, he transforms from an exhausted zombie state into the warm and gentle brother Amelia remembers him always being.

She tries to think of a proper way to thank him, testing out a number of options in her head, until finally, she takes a valiant step forward, loops her arms around his waist, and hugs him as hard as her arms allow.

Dumbstruck, Matthew remains perfectly still, until he feels Amelia bury her head between his shoulder and his chest. He rests a hand atop her head and pulls her closer with his other arm, letting out a low breath of content.

"I love you," she whispers. "Thank you for the gift."

"I love you, too… You're welcome."

There is hope for them. Amelia is sure of it.

* * *

She's been keeping tabs on Kiku during the lunch periods when she doesn't have sessions with Arthur, but nothing seems to be too out of the norm with him. He still sits with his usual friends, talks about the same things, and tries to avoid Amelia's gaze whenever he can.

And yet, there's still a burning disdain in her stomach from that last text she received from her mysterious abuser. Why did it say "love, Kiku," at the end, and if Natalya really didn't do it, what other option does she have other than to seriously consider the possibility that it was, indeed, Kiku himself who wrote the message?

As the days pass, and the texts cease their assault, she wonders if maybe she should just forget it ever happened. No harm done, right? Maybe she'll never find out if it was Kiku who did it, so why dwell on it for so long? Besides, things with Ivan are getting better, the texts and threats have stopped, and it's like everything has gone back to normal.

Of course, the day after she decides to put the whole thing behind her, Kiku is nowhere to be found. He's not at his lunch table, and Amelia knows he can't be absent from school because he prides himself in a perfect attendance record. Perhaps the disappearance wouldn't have been as suspicious and worrisome if she hadn't eavesdropped on some of his friends and learned that they haven't heard from him all day.

And to add to the weirdness of it all, Ivan isn't around either because he claimed to have to speak to his Spanish teacher about one of his grades.

It feels odd to be alone at lunch like this, but there's an underlying discomfort that's making her antsy and uneasy as well—a sense of foreboding.

She swings her backpack over her shoulder and takes her half-eaten bagel with her as she leaves the cafeteria, intending to investigate. She guesses the best place to start would be Ivan's Spanish class to see if he really is there. Chances are—

"Hey, Amelia?"

Someone nearly collides with her from behind and touches her arm, bringing her to an abrupt stop.

She swivels around and locks eyes with the person, more than a little startled when she sees that the girl standing before her is the same girl from the party two weeks ago.

"Oh, hi," Amelia greets her awkwardly as a headache suddenly blossoms in her temple. "How are you?"

The girl frowns. "I just wanted to say thanks for what you did for me the other day. I'm not usually the type of person who drinks and parties and all… It was really nice of you to look out for me."

Amelia smiles brightly and nods. "Yeah, no problem! I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks. I owe you."

"No, don't worry about it! You don't owe me anything," she assures, making a movement to turn away. She'd love to stay and chat, but she really needs to get going.

The girl's face pales and she casts out a hand toward her again. "Wait! I think there's something you should know."

"I'm sorry, but I'm really in a rush and—"

"Ivan hasn't been honest with you."

Amelia's breath catches in her throat. "What?"

"He's been seeing other girls behind your back… including me."

Amelia scoffs and suddenly, without her permission, her eyes sting with angry tears. Why is she surprised? How could she think Ivan could ever be capable of reforming? He's cheated on her before, and it hasn't always stopped at a kiss.

"I'm so sorry. I just thought you had a right to know, and after all you've done for me—. Please don't be upset."

She clears her head and looks at the girl seriously. Three months ago, she would've gotten into a fight with this girl—wouldn't have even bothered to hear her plea. She would've scorned her for ruining her relationship without ever placing the blame where it truly belongs—on Ivan. This time, however, things are different. She knows better.

"Thanks for telling me, and I'm not angry at you. Ivan has a way of getting people to do stuff they wouldn't normally do, and I know that better than anyone, so I don't blame you," Amelia tells the girl, voice thick with an emotion she's not sure how to describe. It's something like disappointment, but worse. "I'll see you around, okay?"

"Okay," the girl says with a frightened nod.

After another short goodbye, Amelia continues toward Ivan's Spanish class, only to find, lo and behold, that he's not there. In fact, the door to the class is locked and the lights are off as though no one has been in there for hours.

And she's not sure how she's convinced of this, but she just _knows_ Ivan must be with Kiku. He's done something. There isn't a shadow of a doubt in her mind anymore. After all that's happened, there's no other feasible explanation.

The only problem now is to figure out where they went. Knowing Ivan, he'd probably want to meet with Kiku someplace private and without that many onlookers. In that case, the sixth floor gym sounds like a good spot, since Ivan also happens to exercise there after school in the adjacent weight training room.

When she first arrives, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. It is, however, quiet, aside from the hum of some nearby vending machines and the electrical management room. Slowly, she walks down the long hallway leading to the gym, deep in thought as the foreboding in her chest intensifies.

"HELP!" someone screams, and she damn near has a heart-attack right then and there.

When she recovers, she stares at the door to the electrical management room, and sure enough, someone is banging on the door desperately. She jiggles the doorknob and tries to get them out, but it's no use—it's locked and needs a key.

"Hang on! I'll go and get a teacher, all right?" she says loudly, hoping the person can hear her.

" _Amelia_?"

She furrows her brows and presses her ear closer to the door, stomach plummeting. Almost immediately, she realizes what has happened. "Kiku? Where's Ivan?"

"I don't know! He left me in here and went off to his next class, I think! It's really hot in here, and I don't like small spaces, and—!"

"It's okay, I'm going to get help. Don't freak out," Amelia tries to calm him, her own heart pounding. She runs toward the P.E. staffroom, which is around the corner and at the end of another long hallway. She doesn't bother knocking when she gets there and simply invites herself in, bursting through the door. Within seconds, she gets the coach of the volleyball team to contact a janitor and get the key to the prison Kiku is being held in, and they get him out.

To say he is shaken is an understatement. He walks out in a state of hysteria, hyperventilating and clammy all over. His arms and legs are quivering, his bangs are plastered to his forehead, and he's wearing his gym uniform. Ivan must've confronted him right after class.

He's brought to the deans' office and given a cool cup of water to drink and a comfy armchair to sit in while his anxiety dies down, and when he's well enough to speak, Amelia doesn't waste time in getting some answers out of him.

"Why did he do this to you?" Amelia asks, sitting on the armrest next to him.

"Because I said I wasn't going to let him send those stupid threats anymore, and that I was going to—" he pauses and swallows another gulp of water. "I was going to ask you to see a movie," he finishes sheepishly, thoroughly humiliated and ashamed. "The whole reason he started sending those texts was so you'd stop talking to me, and the more I would try to see you, the more texts he would send, and then he tried to blame it on _me_! He said if I so much as said anything else to you, he'd find a way to hurt you, and I was scared so I-I…"

Amelia tosses her head back and sighs heavily. Still, she's not as angry as she thought she would be. She knows now that it's time to get Arthur involved once and for all. This has gone on for too long, and he's been right all along. If she doesn't do something, he's going to continue with these dangerous attacks. First though, she has to talk to Ivan one-on-one just to tell him everything she needs to say.

She explains the situation to the deans, but considering her track-record, they don't seem to be very willing to believe that Ivan, a student with a wonderful GPA and an athletic scholarship, could ever be capable of such a thing. For a little while, they even come to suspect that Amelia may have been the real perpetrator, but Kiku hastily dispels this notion, as his word is a quite a bit more trustworthy.

The deans say they will "look into the matter," but Amelia knows nothing will actually be done until she makes a written statement describing all of the things Ivan has been up to and hands it over to Arthur. It's not easy to track down Ivan, but the deans somehow manage to do it, and within the hour, the boy is in their office, eyes glazed over with feigned regret as he rehearses the smooth and stealthy words he plans to use in his defense.

He notices Amelia sitting next to Kiku when he first walks in, and there's a dark glower on his face accompanied by jeering eyes. Before he gets called into a separate room to be asked some questions, Amelia turns to him and says, "I've always tried to trust you even though I shouldn't have."

"And whose fault is that?" he asks her.

This time, the words don't bother her like they should, and she shrugs them off. She's frowning, but it's more out of pity than sadness. Vaguely, she feels Kiku put his hand on top of hers.

"I'm not yours to keep anymore," she replies.

The wild spark in Ivan's eyes tells her this isn't over just yet.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Hello again! We're looking at about two more chapters after this until the end. I hope you're as excited as I am!

* * *

"You're doing the right thing," Arthur says.

"It sure doesn't feel like it."

Arthur's office is the same as it's always been—the bowl of hard candies are still on the side of the man's desk, the electric kettle is still humming away behind them, and the printer still refuses to print double-sided pages without jamming itself into an inkjet form of hell.

But despite all of these familiarities, everything in the room seems brighter somehow—happier even. Maybe it's because Arthur finally has a significant other and doesn't feel the need to be crabby in the mornings, or maybe it's because Amelia had the patience to do her hair today and put on a new pair of jeans, resulting in a fresher outlook on life. Whatever the cause is, she's thankful for it because she hasn't felt this welcome and warm since the sixth grade.

"Is Ivan going to be expelled?" she asks, continuing on a topic they've both been avoiding.

"No, just suspended for the time being."

She sighs. There isn't much else she can do. "You know, I thought doing a good thing means you'll feel good about it afterward."

"Not always," Arthur says with a little frown. "But everything will work itself out in the long run. It may not seem like it now, but be patient."

"Yeah, I'm not getting my hopes up or holding my breath."

"Oh, can't you allow yourself some peace of mind for at least one day?" Arthur snaps, a bit exasperated. "I know something that will bolster your spirits."

"Yeah? What's that?"

He reaches into the bottom drawer of his desk, shuffles through some papers, and pulls out a large manila envelope. "Look for yourself."

She takes it hesitantly and peels back the sticky adhesive on the flap before taking out a stack of papers from inside. The first paper is a letter typed up on fancy, thick card-stock with a pretty font. It reads, " _This award is presented to Amelia F. Jones in recognition of outstanding creative expression_."

She turns to the next paper and sees a laminated copy of the sketch she drew of Arthur peering over the edge of his teacup months ago, and for a long moment, she's paralyzed and can't bring herself to say anything in response.

"The gallery is showcasing your work next week," Arthur says, casually going about filing some paperwork as Amelia continues to gawk at the letter.

"This is… Why did you—? Oh, my god. You know, at any other time, I would've been mad that you submitted my work somewhere and didn't tell me—you big jerk—but I think I can forgive you for now."

Arthur crosses his arms and frowns. "We both know you never would have even considered the possibility of letting the world know you possess a talent or skill, so I decided there was no use in arguing with you. Maybe this will prove to you that you should embrace your abilities."

Amelia huffs and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm a recognized artist now, Artie. You should treat me with a little more respect."

"We'll see about that."

"It says here that I'm allowed to bring two guests. Hmm… Gee, I wonder who I'm going to bring," she says tauntingly, fanning herself with the invitation. "Matthew, obviously. But then, I can't think of a second person. Who else could I _possibly_ find to take some time out of their day for little ol' me? I mean there's always Arthur, but he'll probably be busy talking to somebody's parents, or a teacher, or, even worse, a _student_."

Arthur rolls his eyes and tosses a hard candy at her. "Yes, he's impossibly busy. I don't know if he'll be able to pencil you in."

"Yup, there's never a dull moment with him. I guess I might as well ask anyway," Amelia grins, folding her hands in her lap. "So, are you coming or not?"

Voice dripping with dry sarcasm, Arthur says, "Well, since you asked so _politely_. Yes, I suppose I could find a way to join you."

"Well, I always make an effort to be extra ladylike around you," Amelia goads before putting the envelope and all of its papers into her backpack. "Thank you… I mean it."

"You're welcome. I'm looking forward to the showcase, but before that, I think it's time for you to go to trigonometry."

Amelia groans. "Yay, my favorite part of the day."

"I know, I know. Don't get too excited. I'm curious to find out how you did on the pop quiz."

"I probably did average, which is good enough for me," she mumbles, packing up her things. "I know you'll miss me while I'm gone."

"Of course, who else is going to pester me until our next session?"

"Good luck with finding someone as qualified as I am for the job. See ya tomorrow, Artie."

"Have a good day. Embrace your education."

"Oh, yeah, I will," Amelia assures before stretching her arms in front of her in a mock hug.

* * *

"Hey, Gil. What're you up to?"

Fumbling about near the dryer, Gilbert says hurriedly, "Trying to think of a way to tell Mattie that his dress shirt is pink when he comes home."

"Oooh, you mixed up the colors with the whites again?"

"Kinda… Sorta?"

"He's going to be mad."

"I know. Maybe I should get him something as a consolation gift."

"You could try," Amelia agrees, snatching a glimpse of the shirt in question. It looks pretty bad, in her opinion. Reddish pink streaks have stained themselves like tie-die to the torso. "But he's still going to be mad."

"Agh, you know how Matt is when he's angry. He'll be passive aggressive for a day and get over it."

"Let's hope that's all that happens."

Just then, the doorbell rings.

"Oh, no. Don't tell me it's Matt."

"No, it's probably not. Don't worry," Amelia soothes him before making her way to the front door with the young man in tow. She unlocks the door and inches it open, peeking her head out. "Hello?"

And right there, standing just a foot away, is Ivan. He looks all right, all things considered. He's a bit paler than she remembers, and his hair is a tad on the matted side, but he doesn't seem to be in any major sort of distress, which she supposes is a good sign that he's going to make it through this.

"Hello," he says lowly, hands clasped behind his back as he rocks ever-so-slightly on his heels, nervous.

She hasn't seen him act anxious for a long time. "What's going on?"

"I just... I wanted to talk. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's—"

Suddenly, Gilbert comes up behind her and tugs firmly on her shoulder, protective. "No, it's not okay. Who're you?"

"He's a friend from school, Gil. It's okay, really."

Gilbert gives her a skeptical look and glares at Ivan. "All right... But if this punk gives you a hard time, you'll let me know, _ja_?"

" _Ja_ ," Amelia says with a soft smile. "I can take care of this. Go and try to bleach Mattie's shirt. I'll be there in a minute to help."

"Okay, good. I'm going to need you."

"Obviously. Men can't do anything by themselves."

"Whatever."

Compliant, Gilbert retreats back to the washroom and leaves them alone in the silence of the bleeding sunset.

Amelia sighs and offers Ivan a sympathetic grin. "Sorry about that. How're you doing?"

"I miss you," Ivan says immediately.

Except, Amelia knows this is only a half-truth. Sure, he misses her presence, but at what cost? He just wants to restart the cycle; the cycle of being together and hating each other and breaking up before everything turns into a crappy, unhealthy relationship again.

"I think we both need some space," Amelia tells him, trying to be very careful with her choice of words. She wants to make it clear she isn't out to hurt Ivan by tainting his image or ruining his otherwise flawless school record. She genuinely just wants him to be okay—to know that he can find a person to turn to in order to work out his problems, but that person shouldn't be her. She can't help him. Not in the way he needs to be helped, anyway.

"Why?"

"Because what we had—everything—it wasn't right. It's not the way things should have been between us. We were always at each other's necks, and I don't want that again. We both deserve to be happy, don't you think?"

Ivan scoffs. "There is no such thing as happiness for people like us."

"What's that supposed to mean? You're wrong. We can still make things better."

It's unsettling to see Ivan like this. The despondent look in his eyes almost makes him seem a bit unhinged, and although Amelia isn't afraid of him—has never really been afraid of him—she knows that she has to play her cards just right if she doesn't want this to end in a messy confrontation.

"I love you, Ivan," she whispers, taking a step forward to close her arms around his waist. "Just not the way you want me to."

And for the first time, she holds Ivan like a friend would, and not like a lover, or partner, or twisted romantic. Maybe that's all they've needed all this time—a supportive friend. An ally in this fight.

But it's too much too soon for Ivan, and he shrugs away, eyes even more hollow and weary than before. "Why did you have to do what you did?"

"Because it's time someone looked out for you. I know it seems crazy now, but this is all a good thing: the suspension, us breaking up, and the counseling. It's going to make us better people... Stronger people."

"I didn't ask for your help."

Amelia nods. "But you didn't have to."

"Why would you think something like this could ever be okay?"

"Don't make this awkward and worse than it has to be. I had positive reasons."

Ivan looks down at her squarely in the eyes and frowns. For once, things have not gone according to his supreme plan. He hasn't gotten what he's wanted. He couldn't have her. In his view, Kiku won and he's the loser. Amelia knows he doesn't see what's wrong with them, but then again, she never expected he would. Still, this will be good in the long run. It has to be.

He runs a hand through her hair and lets it fall through her ends, savoring everything that makes her Amelia. "No one will ever be able to help me," he murmurs with a dry smirk, lips curling. "But thank you for trying."

"Ivan, don't say that. All you have to do is—"

"No, it's too late. Goodbye, Amelia."

He lets his hand fall from her hair and spins around on his heel, stalking away. Amelia tries to reach out a hand to pull him back, just as he has done to her before, but he is far more evasive than she is, and he slips away before she can get her chance to stop him.

"Bye, Ivan," she glowers as his figure disappears down the street under the orange sky.

* * *

It is unreal. Unthinkable. Who would have guessed that she'd be sitting here, in this more than beautiful auditorium in the city, listening to an eloquent introduction explaining the artistic work of all of the contest winners from throughout the tri-state area, as well as the potential they all have? How did she end up as part of such a select group? The girl who was never supposed to amount to anything has her hands folded in her lap, is surrounded by the two people who have given her more than the rest of the world combined could ever offer, and is being praised for an actual, legitimate accomplishment.

And it's perfect. Well, almost perfect. The only thing that ruins the moment is that Matthew won't stop snapping pictures of her. After five minutes of posing for him, she gets tired, but he continues his photoshoot throughout the entire evening, having her stand against every wall and every piece of art in the building.

After the formalities are through and Amelia is given a nice, golden plaque along with other students from different schools, the gallery walk finally begins. Refreshments are served as everyone works their way down the rows of artwork and presentations, pausing every now and then to nod their heads at a particularly impressive piece or at anything that catches their eyes.

And then, they reach Amelia's sketch. It's tucked in its own corner at the end of the long hallway—exactly how it should be. It's there but not in anyone's face. It is both seen and not seen, which is precisely what she'd been going for.

Matthew just about bursts into tears when he sees her piece hanging proudly on the wall. He takes another three dozen pictures before pulling her into the tightest hug ever and kissing her head like the sweet brother he can be at times.

"I'm so proud of you, Amelia. This is... It's breathtaking, honestly," he says, absent-mindedly pushing her bangs back with a gentle hand.

Arthur, fortunately, isn't quite as sentimental about everything, but he's mushy and manages to embarrass Amelia in his own way, just by being there and looking at her with that happy look in his eyes. He doesn't have to say anything for her to know he likes the work she has done, but he ventures a few words anyway. "Well, I expect I'll be seeing more of your work in the future, hmm? It wouldn't be a bad idea to start putting together a portfolio."

"I think you guys are getting your hopes up too soon," Amelia replies with a hesitant laugh. "This is like the only _good_ thing I've ever drawn, and now that I've had a lot of time to look at it, I'm not even that happy with it anymore."

"Ahh, yes, but that's how you know you're an artist," Arthur tells her, a teasing note in his voice. "A true artist rarely takes pride in their own work and tends to be overly critical."

"Or maybe they just know how to differentiate the good stuff from the crap."

But that's the last bit of critique Amelia's able to get in because Matthew goes right back to taking pictures and insists she shouldn't be so hard on herself, especially not on a night when they're supposed to be appreciating her art, and so, she tries to be positive and optimistic for everyone's sake.

Truth be told, it feels great to be able to know that she has created something that someone else managed to enjoy looking at. It's an honor to have been able to garner their focus for even just a moment—a passing second in the day where they looked at this sketch and thought about something else. Maybe it brought them back to a moment in their own lives. Somehow, they connected with what she made, and that's really amazing to think about.

Near the end of the showcase, they take advantage of the free food being offered in one of the ballrooms, and while they're stuffing their faces with some of the best sandwiches, coffee, tea, and doughnuts ever made, Amelia lets herself be sappy and murmurs, "Thanks for coming, you guys."

Both Matthew and Arthur give her incredulous looks, as though it's absolutely insane for her to suggest that there was even a chance they _wouldn't_ have come.

"Thanks for being my lovely, little sister," Matthew says back, a dimply smile on his face. He is so relaxed... So at ease. He really hasn't changed as much as she thought he had.

She straightens her shoulders and tilts her head to the side. "All in a day's work."

The rest of the night passes by just as pleasantly. Their party of three ends up taking the train together, and the conversations about how Amelia has a natural gift and that she's the next Pablo Picasso continue with gusto. Of course, most of it is in good humor and meant to be a joke, but Amelia can't help but feel at least somewhat flattered. This could be her creative outlet for now, and maybe, if things go well, she can go to an art-oriented university—if she first makes it through high school trigonometry first.

And during the train ride, she learns a lot more about Matthew than she ever thought possible. Arthur asks him about his law classes and how he plans to move forward, and although she has heard her brother discuss his career plans many times, this is the first time she realizes quite how much he loves what he does. His eyes seem to light up as he's talking to Arthur, and once he gets started on the general stuff he has learned over the semester, he isn't able to stop.

Matthew isn't normally the talkative type, so seeing him this way sure is enlightening. She wonders how much she could find out about him if she just started listening more often. How can she expect Matthew to show an interest in her life if she doesn't do the same for him?

And kudos to Arthur for being able to wrangle more than three sentences out of him. She isn't sure how the man does it, but he barely has to make an effort to get people to open up to him. It's both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

The train pulls into their stop, and then they go their separate ways because Arthur lives farther uptown. She and Matthew wave goodbye to him, watch the train doors slide open, and walk out onto the muggy platform, both a bit fatigued from the night's events.

"You still have school tomorrow," Matthew reminds her as they exit the station and trek up the stairs leading to the street.

"I know. I'll go to bed as soon as we get home, Dad," Amelia teases him with a harmless smile. "Hey, Matt... I just want you to know... I'm really thankful for all that you do for me. I know I'm hard to put up with and a complete pain in the butt."

"You're not a pain in the butt... Well, only sometimes."

"Gee, thanks. But yeah, I love you, bro. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I love you, too, Amelia. I don't know what I'd do without you either."

She sucks in a breath and lets it go, feeling lighter. "Are you going to be home this weekend?"

"If everything goes according to plan, then yeah."

"Wanna have a Netflix binge?"

For a second, Amelia thinks he's going to come up with some excuse about how he has to study or needs to take Gilbert to the dentist because Gil is too afraid to go alone. But then, surprisingly, he suddenly grins widely and says, "Do you even have to ask?"

And that's when she knows—for certain—that everything really _is_ going to be okay.

* * *

There's a first time for everything.

Amelia takes a bathroom break in the middle of her English class because she had way too much tea in Arthur's office earlier, and now she has to pee like crazy. Thankfully, her teacher seems to know she's not just trying to get out of class, and lets her go without questioning her motives.

She's drying her hands with some paper towels when she hears someone hiccup from behind one of the stalls. She and this mysterious girl are the only ones in the bathroom, and Amelia almost manages to brush off the strange noise until she hears a sob, followed by another barely muffled hiccup. It isn't her place to intervene, but after what happened with that one girl at the party she went to last month, she knows how important it is to at least offer support.

Carefully, she tiptoes her way over to the stall door and knocks very softly. "Hey, are you okay?"

The person doesn't say anything back, and so, she tries again.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be nosy or annoying, but if there's anything I can do for you, I'd be glad to do it."

This time, the girl coughs, clears her throat roughly, and mutters, "I don't think you'd want to help me, Amelia."

Of course. Just her luck. Why does she always run into the people she least wants to see?

"Natalya?"

They share an awkward silence until Natalya finally pushes the stall door open and stares at her with red-rimmed eyes, sniffling. She looks… bad. She's less healthy in terms of her appearance, and the aura of confidence she usually wears is missing. "Go away already. Why are you still here? To make fun of me?"

Amelia frowns. "I wouldn't do that."

"You've already done enough," Natalya scoffs, rinsing her face in one of the sinks.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ivan's never home anymore because of you. First Dad left and now him."

Amelia already knows that Ivan grew up without a father in his life. He was killed in some sort of construction accident when he was young, and though they've spoken about it before, Ivan never did like to go into depth about their relationship.

"Where did he go?"

"He hangs out with Vash and some other guys now. He hasn't been home in three days, and he hasn't called. He could be dead for all I know."

Amelia can't hide the obvious concern on her face. "Have you tried talking to Vash?"

"Yeah, but he won't talk to me either."

"He'll be back," she insists, feeling an overwhelming bout of sympathy for Natalya. "He likes to disappear now and then. Do you know why he suddenly left?"

Natalya doesn't look like she wants to give away all of the details, but her gaze seems to suggest that she knows that Amelia is her only chance at getting Ivan to return, and so, she relents. "He doesn't think he has a problem. Our mom tried to get him to talk to a therapist or something, and he got angry and stormed away."

Even though she knows she shouldn't feel this way, Amelia still believes this is her mess to fix. She has to be the one to reach out to Ivan. If they're going to drown, they're going to drown together because two broken people have a better chance at making it through than one.

She looks Natalya directly in her watery eyes and says firmly, "Tell me _everything_ you know."


	11. Chapter 11

No one could have foreseen the sense of urgency that would arise in finding Ivan. After all, if he was staying at Vash's all this time, there really wasn't that much of a reason to worry. Sure, it'd be nice if he'd just go home and stop driving his family up the wall, but the situation wasn't grave by any means. And though Amelia hoped to make amends as quickly possible with him, even she decided to go home and sleep on all of the information Natalya had given her that day at school before acting.

But by then, it would seem, she was already too late.

She knows something isn't right when Arthur walks into her trigonometry class, of all classes, and speaks in a hushed tone to her teacher. They talk for a good minute or so, and then Arthur turns to her and gives her a pointed look before gesturing for her to leave the class and follow him, shoulders taut.

Never complaining at an excuse to get out of math, Amelia hurries after him and meets him out in the hall, a little uneasy when she sees just how somber and stern Arthur's face is up close.

"There's something you should know," he says slowly, escorting her toward his office. He isn't able to look her in the eye, and that's when Amelia's stomach does a cartwheel in her gut.

"What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you in a moment. Let's sit down."

"No, tell me now."

Arthur sighs and brings a hand to rub at his forehead. "It concerns Ivan. He was in a serious car accident last night."

She has to swallow hard to keep from being sick. "What? How—?"

"Apparently, he was intoxicated when it happened. He was alone in his car when he veered off the road. No one else was injured."

"Is he okay?"

"He's in the hospital, and he's in stable condition."

And even though Arthur assures her that he should be fine if he gives himself enough time to recover, Amelia isn't placated by any means. In fact, as soon as the final bell rings for the day, Amelia convinces herself that she ought to see if Ivan is okay for herself, especially after her surprising conversation with Natalya the other day.

As usual, Arthur seems to have read her mind yet again because Amelia finds him waiting for her on the corner she always crosses to get home, a frown creasing his face.

When he sees her, he blinks twice and says, "These types of matters are best addressed with some company. I'll go with you."

"You're right. Thank you," Amelia mumbles, daring to give the man a quick hug. "I appreciate it."

They make the journey to the hospital in relative silence. They both have a lot on their minds, and Amelia can tell something is bothering Arthur. He doesn't have to say a word for her to have a hunch as to why he's being gloomier than usual.

"He wouldn't have listened to you anyway. There's nothing you could have done to protect him, so please don't feel like this is your fault," she tells him as they walk up to the entrance of the hospital. Immediately, she recognizes Ivan's mother standing near the area where a number of ambulances are parked. Her back is turned, and she's arguing with someone on the phone loudly in Russian.

Arthur places a hand on Amelia's shoulder. "I know, but that doesn't mean I believe it."

A nurse at the nurses' station directs them to the fifth floor, which is where Ivan's room is. For a moment, Amelia wonders whether she should wait for Ivan's mother to return before she goes inside, but knowing her, she'll be on the phone for another hour or so. Furthermore, from what Amelia has gathered, she isn't the most pleasant person in the world, and it wouldn't be wise to get into a confrontation with her. Plus, Amelia's pretty sure the woman dislikes her.

She and Arthur have to show ID and sign in on a roster before they're allowed onto the unit. Once that's done, they finally make it over to Ivan's room and pause.

"Would you like to speak to him alone first?" Arthur asks.

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll be waiting by those chairs over there," Arthur says, pointing to a little area farther down the hall. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"I won't be long."

"Take your time."

With a deep breath, Amelia scuffs her sneakers against the spearmint colored tiles on the floor, wrings her hands for a second, and steps inside.

Ivan lifts his head as she enters, holding back a grimace when he jolts his tender neck too quickly. There's a gash on his cheek that's been cleaned and taped up with steri-strips, leaving little, translucent marks on his skin. He has a broken leg as well, but all things considered, he's lucky that's the worst of his injuries. Fortune must have rained down upon him because it looks like he's going to make it through this without so much as a single scar.

He doesn't give her an invitation to come any closer, and she knows she isn't going to get one. Therefore, she invites herself in and takes a seat on the edge of his bed, recalling that one time Ivan caught the flu and she spent the day at his house, making him sip the raspberry green tea she had bought for him from the bodega.

But unlike then, her presence is now unwelcome, and she can tell Ivan is irritated just by the way he draws his brows into a prominent v-shape on his forehead.

Trying to break the ice, Amelia puts a hand on his foot and smiles warmly. "Hey, there."

"What are you doing?"

"I came to make sure you were okay."

"Why?"

Yes, why? She smooths out the crisp bedsheet and slumps her shoulders, trying to ignore the shrewd and inquisitive look in Ivan's eyes as he waits for her to explain herself. "I know things haven't been great between us lately, but that doesn't mean I'm not your friend, or that I'd ever want to see you hurt."

"You were worried about me?" he asks tauntingly.

"Well, duh. Of course I was! It's not like you can date someone for most of your high school life and then suddenly stop caring about them. Maybe other people can do that, but not me," she grumbles, still keeping the smile on her face. After all, she wants to make him feel better, and holding grudges or bringing up her grievances with him isn't going to help. "Don't act so shocked."

"I'm not worth worrying over, Amelia," he murmurs back, pushing the blanket away from his waist and revealing a large patch of gauze covering his chest. "Besides, I don't deserve your concern."

Hmm, of all the things she'd expected him to say, that wasn't one of them. There is affection in his eyes. True affection.

She sighs. "Why did you do this to yourself?"

Ivan stares at the opposite wall and admires the bland painting on the wall. It's a still-life of a fruit basket. "I wanted to know the kind of pain you felt because of me."

"Are you even hearing yourself right now? How could you be so stupid? And for what? Just to prove a point to yourself?" Amelia growls at him, feeling the temptation to smack him over the head.

"I didn't plan to crash."

"You were drinking. What did you think would happen?"

"I knew that whatever happened, I would get what I deserved."

Amelia huffs and stands from the bed. "You're an idiot. Completely crazy! And I thought I was the crazy one, but you've reached a new high."

Ivan laughs at her and covers his eyes with his arm to block out the fluorescent lights. "I couldn't let you have all the glory, _da_?"

"You're the absolute worst. You did all of this to yourself, and you're not even sorry about how worried everyone is about you."

"No one is worried besides you."

"That's not true," Amelia snaps, hovering over the bed and leaning in closer. "What about your mom?"

"My mom hasn't worried about me since the day I was born. Me being here is just an inconvenience for her."

"And your sister?"

Ivan sneers. "My sister thinks I'm one of the most despicable people on Earth."

"Then why was she crying in the bathroom over your dumb self?"

"You confused her with someone else," Ivan retorts, unconvinced.

"You can deny it all you want, but it's true," she argues, gaining more ire with each word. "Okay, then. Arthur's worried. He's in the hallway right now, waiting for me to tell him how you're doing."

"He just doesn't want me to traumatize you any more than I already have."

"Believe it or not, he does care. He cares about every student. Look, no matter what happened between us or what you've done, there are people who are here to support you, and you can't pretend they're not there," Amelia tells him, and before she can stop herself and reconsider her actions, she throws her arms around Ivan's neck and hugs him, mindful of the wound on his chest. "Please, don't do anything like this again."

"Be careful, or Kiku will be jealous."

She rolls her eyes. "This isn't about him. We're talking about you right now, so don't change the subject. "Like I said, I will never be able to love you the way you want me to, but that doesn't mean I don't love you. It's just... different."

"But I will love you."

Amelia sits down on the bed again and drops her hands in her lap. "I know. And I'm sorry, Ivan. I really am."

"So am I."

"Get some rest, okay? Everything will be all right. I'll be around when you wake up."

"You don't have to."

"I know," she says with a frown. "But I want to."

* * *

Gilbert is in one of his reminiscent moods tonight. He's curled up on the sofa with a carton of rocky road ice cream cuddled up against him, moaning and groaning about the travesties of life and how he'll never find a girl who will like him for him and all that jazz.

"It's okay, Gil. You've still got me," Amelia chimes, trying to console him during this crisis. Naturally, she collapses beside him and steals a bite of his ice cream. "Aren't I enough?"

"No offense, but I like older women."

"None taken," she snickers, putting on the T.V. and changing the channel to some kind of program about red pandas.

"So, how's your friend doing?"

"He'll be fine. He's getting out of the hospital tomorrow."

"That's good."

"But—going back to your love life for a minute—I can help you set up a kickass online dating profile if you want."

Gilbert twiddles his thumbs, scoops out a heaping spoonful of ice cream and sticks it triumphantly in his mouth. "I don't think I could be able to trust you with something that important."

"What?" Amelia exclaims, openly expressing how offended she is. "I'm _very_ trustworthy. I'll take some classy photos for you, so you don't have to embarrass yourself by uploading fifteen selfies, and then, the ladies will be all over you."

"Mmm… I like where you're going with this."

"Sleep on it," she suggests, grinning.

"We'll see."

Apparently, red pandas sleep for about forty-five percent of the day and chow down on bamboo like there's no tomorrow. They also happen to be one of the most adorable creatures to roam the planet, in Amelia's opinion. Once she's done fawning over how fantastic the little critters are, she turns back to Gilbert and says, "You'll find someone, Gil. Don't worry. The right person will find you."

"Well, look who's being sappy now," he mocks her, slurping up the melted ice cream beginning to form at the bottom of the carton.

"I have feelings, too, you know," she reveals, turning a little pink against her will. "What time is Mattie going to be home today?"

"He said around six o'clock."

"Wanna make dinner with me then?"

"Do you want the house to burn down? You know how I am with the stove."

"Pyromaniac," she accuses. "All right. Point taken. You can help me clean everything up when I'm done though, Mr. Neat Freak."

"Be happy that you don't have to live with a rat," Gilbert scoffs, unable to stop a squeal from escaping him when the T.V. shows a close-up of a red panda's snout and whiskers. "Goddamn thing is cuter than a baby."

"Lots of things are cuter than babies," she adds, getting up to get started in the kitchen. She's not the greatest chef, and while her skills can't even compare to those of Matthew, she can manage a palatable meal.

She steps into the quiet kitchen, barefoot because she hates wearing socks around the house even when it's cold, and pulls out the pots and pans she'll need to cook some chicken. It'll be nice to surprise Matthew with dinner. He's finally going to be home early in a long time, and she wants to make sure they're all able to savor the moment.

Because she does love Matthew, and maybe, _maybe_ , there's an inkling of fondness in her heart for Gilbert, too.

* * *

"I heard what happened to Ivan. I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Kiku," Amelia tells him the next day at school. "He's going to be all right. Things are just a little crazy right now, but they'll calm down. I hope that when all of this is over, you guys can talk and work things out between each other."

Kiku nods his head with an eagerness that makes Amelia feel like there is hope for all of humanity yet. "I would like that very much."

"Really? I thought you'd be pretty upset and wouldn't want anything to do with him anymore."

"I have faith that people can change," Kiku says, shyly taking Amelia's hand in his.

And she wouldn't expect anything less from Kiku. He is a good guy. Better than all of the guys she's ever suffered through a relationship with. For the first time, this is a relationship that doesn't feel like someone's constantly pulling at her teeth or punching her in the gut. Maybe this is what love is supposed to be like. She's still not entirely sure yet.

"I'll see you in a bit, okay? I have a session with Arthur."

"Of course. See you in English."

She's floating through air as she walks to Arthur's office. There's a fuzziness in her chest that explodes like a firework, and the smile on her face won't go away, even when she plops herself down in the usual chair in front of Arthur's desk.

"Have a good day?" the man asks, raising an impressive brow when he sees her in such a good mood.

"Well, I don't know what a good day is, but if I had to describe one, I'd probably say it's something like this," she explains, forcing the tingling excitement in her hands and knees to a stop.

"I see," Arthur says, pursing his lips with a smirk.

"What about you? How has your day been so far?"

"If I'm going to be honest, I've been a little uneasy."

"How come? What did Francis do this time? Do you need me to threaten him again?" Amelia jokes, shooting him a cheeky look.

"No, it's nothing of the sort," Arthur rushes to say, holding his hands up to stop her from verbally harassing anyone prematurely. "He hasn't done anything wrong. He's just been distant lately, and I've been trying to figure out why. We're having dinner tonight, so perhaps that'll clear things up."

Amelia hums in understanding and shrugs her shoulders. "If you need a private investigator, you know who to call."

"Thank you, that's very reassuring," Arthur says with heavy sarcasm.

"I'm always here for you, Artie. I'm going to see Ivan when he gets out of the hospital today, and I'm hoping it's not going to be super awkward or anything. I don't want him to feel like I'm messing with his emotions or giving him mixed signals. I want to support him, but I don't want him to use that as an excuse to get me to be with him again, you know?"

"I have a suggestion, if you'd like to hear it."

She trusts his recommendations after all of the previous advice he has given her. He hasn't really failed her yet, and so, she leans forward, puts her elbows on her knees and says, "I'm all ears, Artie."

* * *

"Are you nervous?"

She doesn't get an answer from Ivan, and that's okay because she knows she isn't going to get him to admit any sort of weakness.

They walk into a tall building with freezing central air conditioning. The lobby smells of dark roast coffee, and Amelia hopes there are refreshments and caffeine in this place, or she'll be _very_ disappointed.

"It's nice here," she says because she feels like she has to say something. She urges Ivan to the reception counter and they get signed in before they're sent down a long hallway and a flight of stairs leading to the basement. "I've never done one of these things either, so it's going to be new for both of us."

She doesn't know for certain if Ivan's happy that she's here with him, but she has a strong feeling he'd rather be here with her than be forced to come here alone, so Amelia will take whatever small mental victory she can.

They take up some chairs that are set up in a circle in the middle of the room they're escorted into. And—thank the heavens—there is a long table on the side of the room with pretzels, coffee, tea, muffins, and more. Amelia puts her stuff down and immediately grabs herself a plate of snacks before returning to Ivan's side.

"Free food makes everything better, huh?" she asks, trying to get him to lighten up. "Here, have my blueberry muffin and tell me if it's good."

Ivan gives her a skeptical look but takes the muffin anyway. He stares at it for a long moment before taking a bite, and when he does, Amelia can see his lips briefly curl with a tiny smile.

"So?" she wonders, waiting.

"It's good," he says, ripping off a piece and holding it up to her mouth for her to try.

She happily accepts the offer and immediately makes a noise of pleasure when the semi-sweet muffin hits her taste-buds. "Yum!"

The group therapy session is supposed to start in ten minutes, so they're a bit early, which means they can just pass the time by eating more muffins. They are halfway through their second muffin when Amelia says, "Forget group therapy. Let's just have food therapy."

And even though her comment shouldn't be so funny, Ivan seems to find it hilarious because he breaks down in a fit of contagious laughter. There are few times she's heard the boy laugh so genuinely, and that realization makes Amelia laugh, too. She pats his back comfortingly as he tries to steady his breathing again, tears of joy piling up in her eyes. Arthur was right. This is good for both of them.

She's glad she's here.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: We made it to the last chapter! I really hope you guys like it! As always, thank you all so much for the support. Every follow, favorite, and review is very much appreciated! I have the greatest readers ever. :D

* * *

"YOU'RE WHAT?"

Amelia cups her hands over her mouth and tries to keep herself from hyperventilating. Gobsmacked. That's the word Arthur uses whenever something insane happens, and it's the only word that can accurately describe how stunned she is right now. "YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED?"

She gets up and kicks her chair back because she can't come up with any other way to rid herself of the pent-up excitement rushing through her bones. "This is awesome! I'm so happy for you. Oh, my god! I mean, I know I was excited when I first found out you and Francis were dating, but now you're getting _married_ , and that's like a million times cooler!"

Arthur waits to make sure she isn't going to hyperventilate and then says, "Thank-you. I'll be sure to let Francis know he has your approval."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hang on. I didn't say everything is chill between us because if he messes up, he's still in for it," she clarifies. "This doesn't give him the authority to start being a jerk."

And truth be told, Amelia would like to take at least a little credit for this new development. If she hadn't spent the early part of the school year making fun of the man for being a bachelor, maybe he wouldn't have ended up with Francis in the first place. He could've stayed alone and adopted some cats, but where's the fun in that? Now he's happily engaged, and he's probably going to have an awesome wedding with awesome cake and awesome music. She can picture it now.

"So I'm invited, right?" she asks, arms folded.

"Yes, yes, of course, and so is Matthew, but by the time everything is done and said, it'll be ages from now," Arthur reasons, always putting things in perspective and ruining the magic of the moment with his logic.

"Okay, good. Well, I'm looking forward to it. I'll have to brainstorm some gift ideas and—"

"Why don't you focus on your end-of-the-semester grades for now?"

"All right, all right. I'll do that, too. Don't worry."

She has about two weeks until final exams start, and then it'll be summer. She hasn't even thought of what she's going to do with two full months of vacation time, but maybe she'll persuade Mattie to take her on a road-trip somewhere, so they can get away from the chaos of everyday life for a little while.

And summer will go by quickly, as it always does, and then she'll start her senior year of high school, which means college apps, prom, and graduation are all waiting on the horizon. Which begs the question…

"Hey, Arthur? What's going to happen next year? You know… Am I still going to be able to come and talk to you, or—?"

Arthur raises a brow at her, and says, teasingly, "What? Now you _want_ to take time out of your day to see me? Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"Oh, shut up," Amelia grouses, looking down at her lap sheepishly. "I was just… I'm gonna need help with college stuff, and all of the other counselors are lousy and…"

"I suppose I could find a way to fit you into my schedule," Arthur says with a wry smile, and then adds, seriously, "Amelia, you know you're always welcome here should you need me."

"Yeah, I was just checking to make sure you weren't going to leave me hanging now that you're a busy, soon-to-be married man," she laughs.

"There's still time for me to change my mind."

"Ha-ha, I know you're bluffing."

Arthur rolls his eyes and asks the question Amelia knew he would ask eventually, "How did the group meeting with Ivan go?"

"Well, don't be too smug, but it went better than I expected. I think Ivan's really warming up to the idea, even though he likes to pretend it's all a waste of time."

"You've been a good friend to him."

She scoffs, refusing to let herself feel too prideful. "I wouldn't give myself all of the credit."

"You're the last person I would expect to be so modest."

"Looks can be deceiving, Artie. You should know that better than anybody else."

Arthur nods, and there's a light in his eyes that makes Amelia feel like she's done right by him. "That's true. You're certainly not the same girl who walked into this office half a year ago."

"Thanks to you."

"No. I didn't have to do a single thing. All I ever did is sit behind this desk and listen to you talk. Everything you've done—all of the progress—it's all the result of the work you've put into changing things."

She knows Arthur is being the modest one now. He did far more than listen to her ramble, but yes, he's right, to a certain extent. Change doesn't happen on account of someone else imposing it on you. It takes effort and desire from within oneself to become a better person, and she's much happier with where she is now. Before this year, everything else was like a bad nightmare.

She's not the same girl who once wore her heart on her sleeve and stayed with boys just to feel needed. She's not the girl who pushed away her brother and anyone who tried to get close to her because she was afraid of being hurt. Things are different now. A good kind of different.

"I still remember the time you kicked me out of this office for sassing you," she laughs, feeling her face heat up. "I don't know how you had the patience to deal with me."

"Oh, believe me, I've dealt with far worse."

"Why am I not surprised?"

The bell rings.

She rises from her seat just as she has dozens of times in the past, gives Arthur a toothy grin, and says, "See ya soon, Artie."

* * *

"Gil, just give me the phone before someone gets hurt."

"Nein!"

"Gilbert, you've been on it long enough."

"Just one more swipe," Gilbert begs, thrashing about on the couch in the living room while Matthew sits on top of him and tries to pry his cellphone out of his hands.

It's not exactly the most flattering position Amelia has ever seen them in, and to the unsuspecting bystander, the scene might seem more disturbing than it actually is.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" she jokes, keeping her distance just in case. "I think I'll give you two some privacy…"

Matthew snaps his head around to look at her and instantly feels humiliated for stooping so low. He climbs off of Gilbert with a sudden, bashful smile and says, "No, no… It's fine. I was just trying to get Gilbert to turn off 'Tinder.' He's been on the dumb app all day, and—"

"Oh, Gilbert!" Amelia chides him before Matthew can finish. "Try something a little classier next time. There are a lot of creeps on that app. Get yourself an actual dating profile."

Gilbert smooths out his shirt and frowns. "Hey, it's not nice to judge an entire demographic. There are some nice people with great personalities—"

"We know you're not interested in their personalities," she huffs, scowling at him. "I offered to help you, and this is what you decide to do instead?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Gilbert protests.

"He's been on it since breakfast, and he hasn't been able to stop," Matthew explains before catching Gilbert off guard and finally snatching the phone from his grasp. "There. Now do something more productive with your time."

"No! Give it back!"

"No, you have a problem! I'm doing this for your wellbeing!"

"I'm exploring my options."

"Surely, there are better options out there," Matthew argues, stashing the phone in his pocket. "You can get this back when you've learned how to be human again. Staring at a phone screen isn't going to find you the love of your life, but going out and actually meeting with real, physical people might."

"He's right," Amelia adds before patting Gilbert's shoulder soothingly. "Why are you rushing to find someone anyway? Maybe you need to spend some time alone and do some introspection, or whatever it's called. It hasn't been that long since you split with your previous girlfriend. You should reevaluate things before you jump into another romantic adventure."

Matthew jumps on board immediately. "See? That's a great idea!"

"You guys want me to die alone, don't you?" Gilbert moans, pressing a decorative couch pillow to his face in shame.

"Chin up, Gil. I'll get some snacks and we'll watch romantic comedies until our eyes bleed, and maybe then, things won't seem so bad," she suggests, gripping Gilbert's shoulder and prying him from his prone position. "It's going to be okay, dude."

Gilbert miserably lifts his head and nods. " _Ja_ , _ja_... But only cheesy movies, okay?"

"The cheesiest," she promises before disappearing into the kitchen to get the popcorn.

* * *

There is a sweet relief that comes with forgiveness, which is why when Amelia sees Ivan walking down the street in front of their school alone, she runs over to him while dragging Kiku by the hand behind her, and says to him, "Hey, Ivan. Wanna come and get pizza with us?"

It's an offer he doesn't seem too willing to accept at first. Amelia can see his eyes darken and his fingers tremble until he stuffs them in the pocket of his sweatshirt from the football team and replies a bit gruffly, "Okay."

Maybe he takes the invitation because he hasn't had anyone else to talk to lately, or maybe he had a change of heart for some other reason. Whatever it is, Amelia is glad he tags along, and, thankfully, Kiku doesn't seem to mind at all. In fact, he even seems to be somewhat satisfied with the arrangement. Together, they make a strange group of friends, and yet, none of that matters.

"Are you excited to play again next season?"

Ivan musters a polite smile and nods. "Yeah, I'm going to do some extra training over the summer to prepare."

"That's great! Would you mind if I still came to see you play sometimes?"

"No, not at all."

"Okay! I'll be looking forward to it."

They get the pizza, talk some more, laugh at inappropriate jokes and this week's gossip, and then, they go their separate ways again because both Ivan and Amelia have places to be, and even though they used to have a place in each other, it's time they both exercise a little freedom and let themselves feel whole again.

Ivan waves goodbye to them, rounds the corner, and that's that.

"He seems happier, even though everything is different now," Kiku notes, squeezing her hand. "How about you? Are you okay?"

"Me? I'm better than ever," she insists, letting out a sigh. "I'm pretty damn happy, too."

Kiku walks her home, and after scouting the vicinity to make sure they're not being watched, he leans forward, kisses her softly, and heads home himself.

When she goes inside, and Gilbert asks her why she's so giddy on such a humid and stuffy June day, she says, "It's teenage stuff. You wouldn't understand."

"Thank _Gott_ I'm not in high school anymore."

She shrugs her shoulders and kicks her shoes off with a smile she can't seem to shake. "It's not so bad."


End file.
